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This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY  on 
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REV.  G.  C.  RANKIN,  D.  D. 


The  Story  of  My  Life 

Or  More  than  a  Half  Century  as  I  Have 
Lived  It  and  Seen  It  Lived 


By  G.  C.   RANKIN,  D.  D. 


Copyright   191^ 

by 
G.  C.  RANKIN 


u- 


The  Story 
of  My  Life 


or 


More  Than  a  Half  Century  as  I 
Have  Lived  It  and  Seen  It  Lived 

X  y  . 


Written  by  Myself  at  My  Own 
Suggestion  andThatofManyOthers 
Who  Have  Known  and  Loved  Me 


SMITH  &  LAMAR 
Nashville,  Tennessee,  and  Dallas,  Texas 


PRESS    OF 

THE  HOME  AND  STATE  CO. 

DALLAS,  TEXAS 


™eUN"VE^H^NL^CAR0L^ 


Dedicated 


TO  MY  BELOVED  WIFE  WHO,  FOR  MORE  THAN 
THIRTY-FIVE   YEARS,   HAS    WALKED    BY    MY 
SIDE  AND  FAITHFULLY  DONE  HER  PART 
TO  MAKE  MY  WORK  FOR  THE  CHURCH 
SUCCESSFUL  AND  EFFICIENT ;  WHO 
HAS  UNDERGONE  THE  INCON- 
VENIENCES AND  RESPONSI- 
BILITIES  OF  THE   ITIN- 
ERANCY WITHOUT 
A  MURMUR; 

AND 

TO    MY   CHILDREN   WHO    HAVE   ALWAYS    BEEN 
LOVING  AND  OBEDIENT  TO  ME,  WHOSE  CON- 
DUCT SINCE  THEY  ARRIVED  AT  YEARS  OF 
RESPONSIBILITY  HAS  NEVER  CAUSED 
ME   ANY   PAIN   OR   SORROW,   AND 
WHOSE    CHARACTERS   ARE 
GOOD  AND  UPRIGHT,  THIS 
BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


A   FOREWORD 

This  book  is  not  technically  an  autobiography,  for  it  deals 
with  many  persons  and  incidents  outside  of  myself.  Never- 
theless it  deals  largely  with  my  life  as  I  have  lived  it.  As  a 
result  I  have  had  to  parse  myself  in  the  first  person,  singular 
number  and  nominative  case  in  a  much  larger  degree  than 
has  been  tasteful  to  my  modesty ;  yet  my  excuse  for  it  is 
found  in  the  fact  that  those  who  may  feel  any  special  interest 
in  the  book  will  do  so  because  of  the  interest  they  feel  in  my 
life  as  I  have  lived  it. 

So  I  have  grouped  certain  periods  and  certain  incidents 
around  myself  and  told  the  simple  story  without  much  accu- 
racy of  chronology.  In  doing  so  I  have  not  tried  to  exag- 
gerate whatever  I  may  possess  in  the  way  of  virtues ;  neither 
have  I  tried  to  extenuate  the  many  weaknesses  and  foibles 
that  necessarily  belong  to  me,  in  common  with  all  other  men 
of  my  acquaintance. 

There  has  never  been  anything  artificial  in  my  life  or  char- 
acter. I  have  lived  a  very  natural  and  a  very  human  sort  of 
life.  It  has  touched  almost  every  phase  of  experience  common 
to  the  lot  of  honest  poverty  and  self-sacrificing  endeavor.  It 
has  gone  up  against  the  rough  angles,  the  struggles,  the  hard- 
ships, the  disappointments,  the  rebuffs,  the  failures  and  the 
successes  that  attend  the  efforts  of  the  self-made  man. 

I  have  had  to  become,  from  sheer  necessity,  the  architect  of 
my  own  position  and  character  in  the  world ;  and  in  the  process 
of  my  efforts  I  have  learned  many  lessons  of  some  value  to 
those  whose  lot  in  life  forces  them  along  a  similar  line  of  per- 
sonal develooment.     I  have  had  to  fight  some  sort  of  opposi- 


H 


A  FOREWORD— Continued 

tion,  some  kind  of  obstruction,  or  some  character  of  difficulty 
at  every  step  of  my  progress.  I  owe  nothing  to  fortune,  to 
kindred  or  good  luck ;  all  that  I  am  I  owe  to  God  and  to  the 
honest  investment  I  have  made  of  the  health,  the  aspiration 
and  the  ability  He  has  given  me. 

If  I  have  accomplished  anything  in  any  sphere  of  human 
endeavor,  I  claim  no  special  credit  for  it;  I  have  simply  tried 
to  do  my  duty,  though  I  am  conscious  of  having  fallen, far 
short  of  my  ideals. 

Hence  I  have  taken  up  more  than  half  a  century  of  life  as 
I  have  lived  it,  and  as  I  have  seen  it  lived  in  others,  and  woven 
the  result  into  the  warp  and  woof  of  this  volume. 

It  is  a  simple  story,  taken  at  a  high  temperature  out  of  the 
furnace  of  a  very  intense  experience. 

The  reader  will  find  nothing  mechanical  or  stilted  in  it;  no 
effort  at  display,  to  attempt  to  pose  as  an  artist  in  the  use  of 
my  plot  or  pen ;  no  exhibition  of  polished  skill  as  an  author ; 
no  high  coloring  of  literary  novelty ;  no  innovation  or  side- 
light flashes  for  stage  effect ;  no  play  to  the  applauding  gal- 
leries, and  no  plea  for  immunity  from  the  criticisms  of  those 
who  may  wish  to  condemn  me. 

It  is  the  simple  unfolding  of  an  earnest  life,  with  its  touches 
of  humor  and  pathos,  for  the  encouragement  of  struggling 
young  men  and  for  the  entertainment  and  diversion  of  those 
in  mature  life  who  may  chance  to  scan  these  pages. 

G.  C.  Rankin. 

Dallas,  Texas,  June  the  First,  Nineteen  Twelve. 


Contents 


A  Pen  Sketch  of  My  Ancestry  and  Childhood  .    .       3 

II 
Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well  Remember 15 

/// 

An  Old-Time  Election  in  East  Tennessee,  and  Else     29 

IV 
The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its  Effect  on  Me   .    .     42 

V 
Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the  Hill  Country   ....     55 

VI 
A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life 68 

VII 

My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry 84 

VIII 
An  Unlooked-For  Providential  Opening 101 

IX 

Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home  ...    117 


CONTENTS— Continued 

X 

The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever  Received    .     .     .     .133 

XI 

My  Last  Year  With  Professor  Burkett    .         ...  146 

XII 

A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  .     .     .158 

XIII 

My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker     ....  174 

XIV 
A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for  College  ....  194 

XV 
Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College 205 

XVI 
The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Holston     .     .  220 

XVII 

Two  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia 236 

XVIII 
Four  Years  at  Church  Street,  Knoxville     .     .     .     .251 

XIX 

Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga 266 

XX 
Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More 286 


CONTENTS— Continued 

XXI 
My  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Holston  302 

XXII 
The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  .     .     .     .318 

XXIII 

From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas 334 


The  Story  of  My  Life 


Chapter   I 

Pen  Sketch  of  My  Ancestry  and 
Childhood 

My  father's  name  was  Creed  W.  Rankin,  and  my  mother's 
maiden  name  was  Martha  J.  Clark.  The  former  was  born  in 
Jefferson  County  and  the  latter  in  Cocke  County,  East  Ten- 
nessee. The  two  counties  were  separated  by  the  beautiful 
French  Broad  River.  Dandridge  was  the  county-seat  of  Jef- 
ferson and  Newport  the  county-seat  of  Cocke.  In  that  day 
they  were  far-in  country  towns,  and  both  of  them  located  on 
the  river,  but  several  miles  apart. 

My  father  was  the  son  of  Thomas  W.  Rankin,  and  in  his 
early  life  the  latter  was  a  hatter  by  trade,  but  afterwards 
a  farmer.  He  lived  two  miles  from  Dandridge.  He 
was  of  sturdy  pioneer  stock,  with  a  mixture  of  Scotch  and 
Irish  blood  in  his  veins.  In  his  young  manhood  he  served  in 
the  army  with  old  Hickory  Jackson,  and  he  was  in  the  battle 
with  the  Indians  at  Horseshoe  Bend,  along  with  Sam  Hous- 
ton, another  noted  character. 

In  my  boyhood  I  used  to  hear  the  old  gentleman  relate  his 
experiences  in  that  famous  battle;  how  the  Indians  were  forti- 
fied behind  breastworks  reaching  across  the  bend  of  the  river, 
with  nothing  on  either  side  and  in  the  rear  of  them  except 
the  wide  stream,  and  how  with  ladders  in  one  hand  and  guns 


4  The  Story  of  My  Life 

in  the  other  the  soldiers  charged  them,  and  how  the  Indians 
fled  and  swam  the  river;  but  the  most  of  them  landed  under 
a  high  cliff  on  the  opposite  side  and  were  unable  to  scale  the 
rocks  and  escape,  and  the  soldier-marksmen  picked  them  off 
one  by  one  until  not  one  was  left  to  tell  the  tale. 

He  was  sick  at  the  time  of  the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  and 
this  was  a  cause  of  regret  for  the  rest  of  his  long  life. 

Squire  Rankin  was  an  old-time  Whig,  but  he  worshiped  at 
the  personal  shrine  of  Andrew  Jackson,  and  thought  him  the 
greatest  warrior  and  statesman  who  had  ever  lived.  When 
the  grim  old  soldier  ran  for  office,  whether  State  or  National, 
Squire  Rankin  waived  his  politics  and  supported  him  heartily. 
No  man  rejoiced  more  than  he  when  the  General-  was  elected 
President  of  the  United  States  and  was  installed  at  the  White 
House.  I  have  often  heard  him  speak  of  that  campaign  and 
the  excitement  it  provoked.  Naturally  he  was  on  the  opposite 
side,  but  when  the  political  fortunes  of  old  Hickory  were  at 
stake  he  stood  by  the  General.  He  thought  more  of  him  per- 
sonally than  he  did  of  Whiggery.  He  flung  himself  into  it 
and  was  proud  of  the  part  he  took  in  it  locally.  He  never 
was  able  to  figure  out  just  how  the  General  could  have  been 
elected  without  his  aid  and  support. 

In  religion  the  old  gentleman  was  a  blue-stocking  Presby- 
terian of  the  strictest  type.  He  swallowed  its  doctrines  in  toto 
without  a  misgiving  or  a  qualm  of  conscience.  He  doubted 
no  feature  of  it ;  and  while  tolerant  of  the  religious  views  of 
others,  he  was  to  the  end  of  his  life  a  stalwart  Calvinist.  He 
accepted  it  all  and  carried  it  out  in  spirit  and  in  letter  in  his 
faith  and  life.  He  was  one  of  the  best  men  I  ever  knew.  He 
was  kind  in  his  heart,  affable  in  his  manners,  a  Christian 
gentleman  on  all  parts  of  the  ground,  but  tenacious  and  un- 
compromising in  his  principles. 


Pen  Sketch  of  My  Ancestry  and  Childhood  5 

He  was  a  well-informed  man  in  history,  general  literature 
and  current  events.  The  Bible  was  his  one  book  of  unfailing 
interest,  and  he  knew  it  and  the  Shorter  Catechism  memoriter. 
He  was  a  close  reader,  and  at  odd  times  lived  in  his  books 
and  periodicals.  He  knew  the  great  men  of  that  day  and  past 
days.  He  could  tell  you  all  about  them — and  many  of  them 
he  had  seen,  and  knew  them  personally.  Then,  too,  he  was 
the  soul  of  hospitality,  and  the  leading  preachers  and  promi- 
nent politicians  used  to  stop  at  his  comfortable  country  home. 
It  was  a  treat  to  him  to  entertain  them  and  talk  with  them. 
From  them  he  learned  much,  and  his  face  brightened  when- 
ever they  called  to  spend  the  night  with  him.  He  had  plenty 
of  everything  and  gave  them  a  royal  welcome. 

For  years  and  years  he  was  the  Justice  of  the  Peace  of  his 
precinct,  and  this  is  why  he  was  called  Squire  Tommy  Rankin. 
When  the  weather  was  good  hfe'^ould  hold  his  court  in  his 
front  yard  under  the  trees,  but  when  it  was  inclement  he 
would  hold  it  in  his  commodious  workshop.  But  usually,  if 
it  were  possili  le,  he  would  get  the  contending  parties  together, 
lecture  them  on  their  duty  as  neighbors  and  prevail  upon 
them  to  make  friends  and  go  home  and  live  together  peace- 
ably. Often  in  this  way  he  would  have  his  prospective  liti- 
gants settle  their  troubles.  He  did  not  know  much  book-law, 
but  he  had  a  keen  sense  of  justice  and  knew  what  was  right; 
and  upon  this  principle  he  decided  most  of  the  cases  that  came 
before  him.  And  he  was  rarely  ever  reversed,  so  he  used  to 
say.  But  it  was  often  the  case  that  there  was  no  appeal  from 
his  settlement  of  those  neighborhood  troubles.  He  was  known 
as  a  peacemaker,  and  no  one  ever  questioned  the  old  man's 
honesty  and  his  inflexible  purpose  to  do  right. 

His  first  wife  was  a  devout  Christian  woman,  with  good 
mind  and  a  lofty  spirit,  but  she  died  when  my  father  was  still 


6  The  Story  of  My  Life 

quite  a  boy.  This  was  always  a  source  of  sorrow  to  him,  as 
he  spoke  in  terms  of  great  reverence  of  her. 

My  mother's  father  was  named  Shelton  Clark..  He  was  a 
farmer  by  occupation  and  owned  negroes  and  a  fine  plantation. 
His  large  framed  house  was  on  the  "big  road",  and  it  was 
known  far  and  wide  as  a  place  of  great  hospitality.  His  barn 
was  always  full,  his  crib  replete  with  cereals,  his  smokehouse 
well  supplied  with  meat,  and  his  table  groaned  under  the 
weight  of  the  best  that  the  farm  could  supply.  He  was  a  man 
of  great  common  sense,  well  poised  in  character,  strong  and 
robust  in  body,  and  very  industrious.  And  while  strictly  moral, 
he  was  not  a  professor  of  religion,  neither  was  he  a  member 
of  the  Church ;  but  all  the  pioneer  preachers  of  that  day  had  a 
welcome  in  his  home.  He  was  Irish  in  his  race  and  tempera- 
ment. He  was  a  quiet  man  in  his  disposition,  but  he  was  as 
courageous  as  a  lion ;  and  when  aroused  he  was  not  a  safe 
man  to  encounter.  He  was  not  an  educated  man,  but  he  was 
possessed  of  a  strong  native  mind  and  had  great  strength  of 
character. 

His  good  wife  was  one  of  the  best  women  I  have  ever 
known.  She  was  also  of  Irish  descent,  rather  low  and  stout, 
had  a  striking  face,  red  hair  intermingled  with  gray;  when 
I  first  knew  her  she  was  a  shouting  Methodist,  and  the  best 
old  grandmother  in  the  world.  Her  husband  died  and  left 
her  with  a  large  family  of  children  to  raise,  quite  a  number 
of  negroes  to  manage,  and  an  estate  to  look  after.  All  this 
she  did  well  and  made  a  success  of  her  undertaking.  Her 
dear  old  face  stands  out  before  me  now  just  as  it  did  in  the 
years  long  gone,  and  I  esteem  her  affection  for  me  as  one  of 
the  dearest  boons  of  my  young  life.  To  me  it  was  heaven  to 
spend  days  and  weeks  with  her  and  enjoy  her  love  and  com- 
panionship. 


Pen  Sketch  of  My  Ancestry  and  Childhood  J 

Were  it  necessary  I  could  go  much  further  back  in  my  an- 
cestral history;  but  the  above  will  suffice.  I  have  always  re- 
joiced in  the  fact  that  on  both  my  paternal  and  maternal  side 
of  the  house  I  have  inherited  qualities  of  blood  and  brawn  of 
which  I  am  justly  proud.  If  anything  dishonorable  ever  oc- 
curred in  the  family  record  back  through  the  history  along 
which  I  have  been  able  to  trace  my  origin,  I  have  not  been 
able  to  discover  it.  Through  the  several  generations  where 
I  have  made  the  search  I  have  found  them  to  be  industrious, 
law-abiding  and  upright  people,  and  among  them  are  found 
scores  of  men  and  women  of  more  than  ordinary  intellectual 
endowments,  high  moral  ideals  and  prominent  leaders  in 
Church  and  State.  If  I  was  not  well  born  it  was  not  the  fault 
of  my  ancestors. 

My  father  was  far  more  than  an  ordinary  man.  For  his 
day  he  was  well  educated.  He  had  a  well-selected  library, 
and  he  was  an  ardent  lover  of  good  books.  He  patronized 
some  of  the  best  periodicals  of  that  day.  He  was  studious 
and  a  well-informed  man.  By  vocation  he  was  a  farmer  and 
managed  the  large  plantation  interests  of  his  wealthy  uncle, 
Major  Lawson  D.  Franklin.  On  that  plantation  there  were 
several  hundred  slaves,  and  he  took  a  large  part  in  directing 
their  labors  and  controlling  their  conduct.  At  times  some  of 
them  were  vicious  and  had  to  be  handled  roughly.  In  person 
he  was  more  than  six  feet  tall,  had  a  splendid  head  covered 
with  coal-black  hair,  a  striking  face  lit  up  with  a  bluish-gray 
eye  of  wondrous  penetration,  and  his  general  bearing  was  that 
of  a  man  born  to  command.  He  had  great  pride  of  character, 
dressed  well,  and  he  was  a  leader  in  the  community  where  he 
lived.  He  was  a  man  of  impulsive  spirit,  did  not  take  well  to 
unreasonable  opposition,  and  when  angered  his  temper  was  of 


8  The  Story  of  My  Life 

an  explosive  character.  The  man  who  wantonly  insulted  him 
had  need  to  get  ready  for  business  on  very  short  notice. 

My  father,  in  religion,  was  a  Presbyterian,  and  a  member 
of  that  denomination.  However,  he  was  not  a  devoutly  reli- 
gious man,  but  a  very  respectable  communicant  of  the  Church. 
He  was  devoted  to  the  externals  of  religion,  believed  in  its 
truth  and  patronized  its  enterprises;  but  he  was  lacking  in 
the  more  deeply  spiritual  experiences  of  religion.  The  intel- 
lectual by  far  dominated  the  emotional  in  his  moral  and  reli- 
gious bent  of  mind  and  character.  He  was  the  friend  of  all 
ministers  and  delighted  to  entertain  them  in  his  home.  There 
was  no  Church  of  his  denomination  in  our  immediate  com- 
munity, and  he  mostly  attended  services  at  the  Methodist 
Church  with  my  mother;  and  he  was  a  very  close  listener  to 
the  sermon. 

He  was  a  popular  man  among  the  people  who  knew  him,  and 
often  he  was  called  into  the  counsel  of  his  wide  circle  of 
friends.  He  was  a  devoted  member  of  the  Masonic  fraternity 
and  rarely  ever  missed  his  lodge  meetings.  He  filled  its  high- 
est offices.  He  was  elected  Colonel  of  the  county  militia  and 
gave  a  great  deal  of  thought  to  military  matters.  Hence  he 
was  known  throughout  his  section  as  Colonel  Rankin.  He  had 
a  brilliant  uniform  in  keeping  with  his  rank,  and  when  in  full 
dress  and  mounted  upon  his  splendid  steed  he  looked  every 
inch  like  a  military  chieftain.  My  mother  was  very  proud  of 
him,  and  as  a  boy  I  thought  him  the  greatest  living  man.  He 
was  courtly  in  his  manner  and  picturesque  in  his  character. 

My  mother  was  a  supremely  modest  woman.  She  was  of 
medium  size,  had  auburn  hair,  soft-gray  eyes  and  a  face  of 
subdued  sweetness  and  saintly  expression.  If  she  ever  had  a 
coarse  thought  there  was  no  mark  of  it  in  her  countenance. 
She  had  but  very  limited  education,  but  she  was  a  close  ob- 


Pen  Sketch  of  My  Ancestry  and  Childhood  9 

server  and  a  persistent  student  of  the  Scriptures.  She  was 
possessed  of  a  large  degree  of  innate  refinement.  From  early 
life  she  had  her  share  of  sorrow,  and  its  effect  upon  her  life 
and  character  matured  her  into  the  ripeness  of  a  very  deep 
religious  faith.  She  was  a  Methodist  of  the  old-fashioned 
type,  and  there  was  a  profound  spirituality  in  her  experience. 
She  accepted  the  teachings  of  the  Bible  without  any  question 
or  misgiving.  If  she  ever  had  a  doubt  as  to  its  inspiration  and 
authenticity  I  never  heard  her  give  the  slightest  expression 
to  it.  In  fact,  I  think  she  accepted  the  Scriptures  just  as 
though  God  had  opened  the  door  of  heaven  and  handed  a  copy 
of  them  to  her  with  his  own  hand.  To  her  it  was  God's  own 
word  and  its  commands  were  yea  and  amen. 

She  never  missed  Church  service  whenever  it  was  within 
her  reach ;  and  she  went  to  listen,  to  learn,  to  be  benefited. 
God's  house  was  to  her  a  veritable  sanctuary,  its  pulpit  was 
her  oracle,  its  altars  were  heaven's  shrine.  Often  she  would 
become  filled  to  overflowing  with  divine  unction,  and  more 
than  once  I  have  heard  her  sweet,  clear  voice  in  outbursts  of 
praise  and  glad  hallelujahs.  But  hers  was  not  simply  a  Church 
religion;  it  was  a  uniform,  ever-flowing,  perennial  religion. 
In  her  home  she  had  her  special  place  for  private  prayer  and 
there  at  special  hours  she  would  talk  with  God.  Many  a  time 
have  I  heard  her  softly-whispered  ejaculations  as  she  com- 
muned with  her  unseen  though  ever-present  Father.  Her  life 
was  an  illustration  of  her  faith  and  her  neighbors  took  knowl- 
edge of  her  that  she  had  been  with  Jesus. 

She  was  a  model  of  patience  and  never  gave  way  to  anger. 
She  could  bear  more  and  resent  less  than  any  woman  I  ha\  e 
ever  known.  She  was  a  paragon  of  industry.  She  could  spin, 
weave,  cut  and  make  her  clothing,  and  that  of  her  husband 
and  children,  and  when  the  product  left  her  hand  an  expert 


io  The  Story  of  My  Life 

tailor  could  hardly  have  made  any  improvement  on  it.  She 
was  an  admirable  cook  and  knew  how  to  supply  her  table  with 
things  good  and  palatable.  And  with  the  voice  of  song  she 
went  about  her  work  as  happy  as  the  child  of  God.  In  much 
of  her  latter  life  she  was  in  poor  health,  and  at  times  her  weak 
body  would  cast  a  spirit  of  gloom  over  her  mellow  face;  but 
in  the  main  she  was  buoyant  and  hopeful.  I  shall  have  much 
more  to  say  about  her  in  several  chapters  to  follow;  thus  far 
I  have  only  indicated  her  traits  and  qualities  in  order  that  the 
reader  may  know  something  of  the  heritage  of  my  birth. 

My  father  and  mother  were  married  at  the  home  of  her 
mother  after  a  lengthy  courtship,  as  I  have  heard  her  relate 
time  and  again.  They  at  once  went  to  housekeeping  in  a 
home  he  had  prepared  in  Jefferson  County  two  miles  from 
the  town  of  Dandridge.  In  front  of  their  home  ran  the  limpid 
French  Broad  River,  whose  banks  were  fringed  with  birch 
and  willow,  and  whose  rippling  waters  were  as  clear  as  crystal. 
Just  beyond  the  stream  there  stretched  a  magnificent  piece  of 
rich  bottom  land  to  the  foot  of  an  irregular  mountain  range 
whose  peaks  seemed  to  kiss  the  overarching  sky.  Back  of  the 
home  were  undulating  hills,  covered  with  a  luxuriant  forest, 
in  the  branches  of  which  the  wild  birds  sang  by  day  and  the 
somber  whip-poor-wills  chanted  their  weird  melodies  by  night. 
Amid  these  romantic  surroundings,  with  every  touch  of  rural 
beauty  and  attractiveness,  nestled  the  comfortable  home  in 
which  their  wedded  life  had  its  peaceful  beginning.  Material 
wealth  was  not  their  possession,  but  they  had  plenty  with 
which  to  begin,  and  they  were  rich  in  the  wealth  of  their  love 
and  in  the  prospect  of  a  life  of  happiness  and  inspiration. 
The  whole  surrounding  made  it  the  fit  habitation  for  love's 
young  dream,  and  no  wedded  couple  ever  entered  upon  their 
united  career  with  brighter  prospects  and  with  more  glowing 


Pen  Sketch  of  My  Ancestry  and  Childhood  II 

anticipations.  Hope  regaled  their  experiences  with  creations 
of  pleasure  and  held  before  them  pictures  of  enchantment  and 
fortune.  Thus  they  settled  down  to  the  realities  of  domestic 
life  and  addressed  themselves  at  once  to  the  duties  of  their 
new  relationship  as  husband  and  wife. 

My  birth  and  early  life  have  some  points  of  interest  in  this 
connection.  I  was  neither  the  first  nor  the  second-born  in 
that  quiet  little  home  beside  the  swiftly-flowing  river.  The 
first  to  come  was  a  baby  girl,  bright  and  promising.  Around 
her  my  mother's  affections  clustered,  and  she  was  the  light  of 
her  life.  But  before  her  conscious  little  eyes  rested  upon  the 
strange  world  into  which  she  had  come,  and  just  after  she  had 
made  her  presence  indispensable  to  my  mother's  happiness,  the 
angels  came  one  dark,  murky  night  and  kissed  her  innocent 
spirit  away.  Her  body  was  deposited  on  the  hilltop  not  far  off, 
the  first  spot  to  greet  the  sun  in  the  morning  and  the  last  to 
bid  him  adieu  at  eventide.  The  little  cradle  sat  silent  and 
vacant  in  its  accustomed  place.  This  was  the  first  sorrow  that 
flung  its  dark  shadow  athwart  the  threshold  of  that  home,  and 
it  left  behind  it  a  trail  of  maternal  anguish.  Thus,  right  in 
the  beginning  of  her  domestic  experience,  my  mother  was 
made  to  realize  the  bitter  meaning  of  death.  For  months  she 
was  desolate.  Often,  toward  the  close  of  day,  she  would  wend 
her  saddened  footsteps  to  that  sunkissed  mound  and  look  up 
through  her  tears,  wondering  why  the  good  Father  had  bereft 
her  and  left  her  sad  and  lonely.  She  was  not  rebellious,  but 
the  why  of  it  was  a  pathetic  puzzle  to  her  faith. 

In  the  course  of  time  another  dear  little  baby  girl  appeared 
in  that  home,  and  the  look  of  sadness  upon  my  mother's  face 
gave  place  to  that  of  joy  and  gladness.  She  did  not  forget 
the  first-born,  but  the  second  was  in  some  measure  a  recom- 
pense for  the  loss  her  heart  had  sustained.     Life  again  took 


12  The  Story  of  My  Life 

on  hope  and  the  future  brightened  in  its  expanse  before  her. 
But  those  glad  smiles  were  soon  destined  to  recede  under  an- 
other shadow,  and  the  fitful  light  again  faded  into  darkness; 
for  when  the  cup  of  her  delight  was  just  about  full  the  spirit 
of  this  smiling  angel  in  human  form  took  its  flight  to  the  land 
beyond.  Then,  instead  of  one,  there  were  two  little  graves  on 
the  vernal  hill,  and  my  mother's  heart  was  almost  buried  in 
the  tiny  vaults  that  marked  the  sacred  spot. 

The  heart  is  human,  however  strong  its  faith  and  however 
resigned  to  its  mysterious  fate.  It  cannot  help  bleeding  when 
repeatedly  bruised  and  torn.  She  was  not  in  the  least  resent- 
ful. Her  trust  was  unshaken,  but  the  unknown  purpose  in  the 
untoward  visitations  made  her  wonder  why  she  was  thus 
smitten.  But  day  by  day  she  went  to  the  Father  above  for 
strength  and  guidance,  and  strove  to  cling  the  closer  to  the 
arm'  that  seemed  to  ply  the  chastening  rod.  Often  I  used  to 
hear  her  tell  of  her  grief  in  those  early  days  and,  by  and  by, 
how  she  became  reconciled  to  a  merciful  Providence  in  his 
strange  dealings  with  her.  She  heard  a  voice  whispering  to 
her:  "What  I  do  now  thou  knowest  not,  but  thou  shalt  know 
hereafter."  She  ceased  to  think  of  her  loved  and  lost  as 
sleeping  on  the  hilltop,  but  as  living  a  conscious  life  with  God. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  of  striving  to  bring  her- 
self into  perfect  subjection  to  the  will  of  the  Father,  and  when 
her  deeper  consecration  to  him  became  the  inspiration  of  her 
life,  that  I  was  born  into  the  home.  My  first  breath  was, 
therefore,  in  the  atmosphere  of  faith  in  God's  providence  and 
increased  devotion  to  his  service.  Yea,  my  prenatal  life  was 
conceived  and  nurtured  by  her  at  a  time  when  her  faith  was 
keenest  and  when  her  reliance  upon  divine  strength  was 
greatest.  I  came  into  the  world  through  the  heart-sobs  of 
prayer;  and  she  regarded  my  advent  as  God's  own  gift  to  her; 


MRS.  MARTHA  J.  RANKIN 

MY  MOTHER 


Pen  Sketch  of  My  Ancestrv  and  Childhood  13 

and  she  was  happy  and  glad  in  the  possession.  Yes,  I  had  a 
royal  welcome  into  this  hard  old  world.  I  was  needed  to  fill 
up  the  measure  of  craving  in  a  soul  twice  smitten  and  as  the 
reward  of  a  faith  that  no  sort  of  sorrow  could  sweep  from 
its  anchorage. 

How  fortunate  to  be  thus  born!  As  a  result,  I  cannot  re- 
member when  I  was  not  religiously  inclined.  My  nature  was 
bent  that  way,  and  my  earliest  thought  dwelt  upon  God  in- 
stinctively. My  recollection  does  not  reach  back  to  the  time 
I  first  prayed  at  my  mother's  knee.  Her  faith,  in  a  certain 
sense,  was  my  faith  and  her  God  was  my  God.  Like  her,  in 
my  early  childhood  I  was  a  stranger  to  doubt.  The  Good 
Man,  as  my  mother  would  present  God  to  me,  was  a  reality 
from  the  beginning ;  and  heaven  was  as  common  to  my  early 
thinking  as  was  the  home  in  which  I  lived.  I  did  not  regard 
my  little  sisters  as  dead,  and  when  my  mother  would  lead  me 
by  the  hand  to  their  resting-place,  she  told  me  they  only  went 
that  way  to  the  better  land.  I  believed  it  with  all  my  innocent 
heart.  What  a  delightful  condition  of  soul  when  no  doubt 
drags  its  ugly  form  across  the  pathway  of  faith !  Later  on  in 
life  I  had  the  spell  of  this  absolute  trustfulness  rudely  broken 
and  it  gave  me  the  shock  of  my  life.  I  passed  through 
struggle  and  conflict  during  many  disturbed  nights  and  weary 
days  before  I  recovered  my  bearing;  and  when  the  recovery 
was  realized  my  soul  was  bruised  and  torn,  some  of  the  scars 
of  which  remain  until  this  good  day. 

Consecrated  motherhood  is  the  best  and  most  valuable  boon 
in  the  life  of  a  boy.  It  is  the  Angel  of  the  Covenant  whose 
influence  goes  with  him  from  the  beginning  to  the  close  of 
his  earthly  pilgrimage.  However  far  he  may  drift  in  after- 
life from  the  lessons  of  his  childhood,  ever  and  anon  he  awakes 
to  the  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  right  there  in  the  far-off 


14  The  Story  of  My  Life 

background  of  his  memory  stands  his  mother  looking  wistfully 
and  tenderly  into  his  face.  Her  purity  of  life  he  can  never 
cease  to  revere,  and  he  can  never  free  himself  from  the  touch 
of  her  long-vanished  hand.  When  all  other  comforts  flee  and 
other  helpers  cease,  the  fancied  sound  of  her  silent  voice  con- 
tinues to  sink  like  sacred  music  in  his  throbbing  heart.  He  can 
never  forget  her  prayer,  her  counsel,  her  godly  admonition. 

From  my  first  recollection  my  mother  treated  me  more  like 
a  companion  than  a  child.  Rather,  she  treated  me  more  like 
her  second  self.  Whether  she  bent  over  the  garment  with  her 
needle  in  hand,  or  walked  back  and  forth  at  her  revolving 
spinning-wheel,  or  sent  the  shuttle  singing  through  the  warp 
of  the  resounding  loom,  or  stooped  over  the  washtub  on  the 
early  Monday  morning,  or  went  quietly  about  the  noonday 
meal,  she  was  never  too  busy  or  tired  to  hold  converse  with  me. 
She  had  a  sweet  voice  of  singular  clearness  and  often  she 
would  sing  the  songs  of  Zion  to  me.  They  were  the  old  songs 
that  she  sang,  nearly  all  of  which  are  obsolete  now.  They 
were  songs  of  pathetic  strain  and  tune,  rich  in  minor  melodies. 
Her  early  sorrows  inclined  her  thought  and  feeling  that  way 
and  the  soft  stop  played  a  large  part  in  her  music,  her  devo- 
tion, her  thinking  and  her  manner  of  conversation. 

I  loved  my  father,  of  course,  and  had  great  respect  for  him, 
but  not  in  the  same  way  that  I  loved  my  mother.  He  was 
busy  here  and  there  with  the  affairs  of  life  and  my  constant 
noise  and  prattle  did  not  always  appeal  to  him  as  it  did  to  her. 
I  held  him  in  a  sort  of  awe  as  he  would  come  and  go;  but  I 
felt  as  easy  and  restful  in  my  mother's  presence  as  a  birdling 
in  its  sheltering  nest.  She  opened  her  heart  to  me  and  I 
entered  into  it  as  my  door  of  hope  and  confidence.  My  talk 
and  questionings,  though  interminable,  never  seemed  to  weary 
or  worry  her  in  the  least. 


Chapter  II 

Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well 
Remember 

When  I  was  about  five  years  old  my  grandmother  came 
down  to  see  us  one  day.  This  she  often  did,  and  it  was  always 
an  event  in  our  home.  I  noticed  on  this  occasion  that  she 
and  my  mother  were  in  very  close  whispered  conversation 
just  before  she  was  ready  to  return  home.  Then  she  turned 
to  me  and  said  she  wanted  me  to  go  home  with  her  and  spend 
a  few  days,  that  Jack  wanted  to  see  me,  and  that  she  had  cake 
and  sugar  and  other  good  things  for  me.  Of  course  I  was 
ready  to  accede  to  her  proposition,  for  it  was  always  a  treat 
to  visit  her  home.  So  she  mounted  old  Rufe,  her  trusted  old 
saddle-horse,  my  father  threw  me  on  behind  her,  and  away  we 
racked  to  grandma's  house.  When  we  arrived  Jack  was  at 
the  gate  to  receive  us,  which  he  did  with  many  antics  of 
delight. 

She  had  an  old  trusted  negro  woman  named  Aunt  Dinny, 
and  no  kinder  heart  ever  beat  in  a  human  bosom.  She  was  an 
old  black  mammy  to  me.  In  fact,  she  never  showed  any  dif- 
ference in  her  affection  between  Jack  and  me.  Jack  was  her 
youngest  child  and  he  was  three  years  older  than  I,  and  he 
was  the  inseparable  chum  of  my  early  childhood.  The  boy 
who  never  had  a  country  grandma,  who  never  had  an  old  black 
mammy,  and  who  never  had  a  little  negro  ehum  will  never 


1 6  The  Story  of  My  Life 

know  what  he  has  missed ;  and  whether  living  or  dead,  he  still 
has  a  great  deal  coming  to  him.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to 
enjoy  these  three  blessings.  The  memory  of  them  is  still  pre- 
cious to  me,  and  I  often  revert  to  them  and  find  joy  in  their 
recollection. 

Jack  was  strongly  attached  to  me.  He  really  loved  he  like 
a  little  brother.  He  was  a  funny-looking  little  negro.  He  had 
a  catfish  mouth  filled  with  white  teeth,  a  flat  nose,  large  lips, 
a  small  head  covered  with  short  kinky  hair,  tall  and  slender, 
and  was  as  black  as  the  ace  of  spades.  In  fact,  as  I  after- 
wards learned,  he  was  gawky  and  angular  and  a  grotesque 
speciment  of  humanity.  But  at  that  time  .1  saw  no  physical 
defect  in  his  personal  make-up.  He  was  my  beau-ideal.  My 
freedom  about  the  "big  house"  as  the  only  white  child  gave 
me  access  to  all  the  good  things,  and  Jack  was  monstrously 
fond  of  goodies.  Of  course  he  loved  me.  And  he  was  ready 
at  a  moment's  notice  to  render  me  any  sort  of  service. 

As  a  result,  he  would  do  anything  for  me,  and  nothing  really 
pleased  him  more  than  my  visits  to  grandma's.  As  soon  as  I 
arrived  he  would  run,  jump,  turn  somersaults  and  cut  all  sorts 
of  capers.  There  was  nothing  that  he  would  not  do  for  me. 
He  would  get  down  on  his  all-fours  and  let  me  ride  him  about 
the  room,  and  he  would  improvise  a  harness  and  hitch  himself 
to  a  little  wagon  and  pull  me  all  about  the  premises.  He 
would  sometimes  mount  the  rungs  of  a  ladder  and  skin  cats 
by  the  half  hour  to  my  delight,  and  do  divers  other  things  for 
my  amusement.  So,  on  this  particular  visit,  Jack  was  ready 
to  receive  me  and  he  gave  me  a  boisterous  welcome.  For  a 
week  I  had  the  time  of  my  life  and  was  perfectly  satisfied. 
Once  or  twice  grandma  slipped  down  to  see  mother  without 
letting  me  know  where  she  had  gone. 

But  early  one  morning  she  had  Uncle  Martin  to  saddle  old 


Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well  Remember  iy 

Rufe  and  told  me  to  tell  Jack  good-bye,  for  she  was  going  to 
take  me  home  to  see  mother.  Off  we  paced,  and  in  a  couple 
of  hours  we  were  there  and  I  rushed  in  to  see  mother.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  her  in  bed,  but  I  ran  up  to  where  she  was 
and  she  drew  me  to  her  and  kissed  me.  Then  she  threw  back 
the  cover  and  told  me  to  see  what  Dr.  Crawford  had  brought 
me.  I  looked,  and  there  lay  a  tiny  little  baby  brother !  My 
astonishment  staggered  me,  and  my  curiosity  ran  up  to  fever 
heat.  I  began  to  ask  mother  a  hundred  questions  about  that 
youngster,  and  it  was  many  a  day  before  my  curiosity  sub- 
sided. But  I  was  overjoyed  at  the  accession.  But  the  coming 
of  a  new  baby  to  the  home  to  this  good  day  makes  about  the 
same  impression  on  the  children.  How  fortunate  that  this  is 
true!  The  little  strangers  are  not  responsible  for  their  advent 
into  this  world  and  they  are  entitled  to  a  welcome. 

But  my  mother  was  a  long  time  fully  recovering  and  when 
she  did  it  was  only  partial.  She  was  almost  an  invalid  for 
two  years  or  more.  As  a  result,  I  spent  the  most  of  that  time 
at  grandma's,  with  an  occasional  visit  home.  Her  house  be- 
came a  sort  of  second  home  to  me.  She  gave  me  every  liberty, 
and  no  boy  ever  had  a  happier  time.  The  preachers  would 
often  stop  there,  and  once  a  month  she  would  have  public 
service  in  her  house.  They  were  a  companionable  class  of 
men  and  always  had  a  kind  word  for  me.  Grandma  always 
told  them  that  I  was  her  little  preacher,  and  it  pleased  me 
immensely.  At  these  services  the  negroes  were  allowed  to 
attend  and  to  participate.  She  had  one  old  man  who  was 
mighty  in  prayer  and  occasionally  he  was  called  on  to  lead, 
and  he  did  it  with  fervor.  They  all  joined  in  the  singing,  and 
I  have  never  heard  such  Church  music  since  that  day. 

Grandma  was  kind  to  her  negroes.  She  clothed  them  well, 
taught  them  to  read,  and  they  lived  as  well  as  the  white  folks. 


18  The  Story  of  My  Life 

She  permitted  them  to  have  little  patches  of  stuff  of  their  own, 
a  few  pigs  and  some  chickens.  Hence  they  usually  had  their 
own  change;  and,  in  fact,  they  were  better  off  than  any  of 
them  were  afterwards,  when  they  were  set  free.  She  never 
sold  one,  but  more  than  once  she  bought  a  man  or  a  woman 
in  order  to  unite  their  families.  From  time  to  time,  as  she 
grew  older  and  her  children  married,  she  would  give  each  one 
his  or  her  proportionate  number  of  negroes.  Some  of  her 
children  did  not  do  as  good  a  part  by  them  as  she  did. 

Among  them  all  Aunt  Dinny  and  Jack  were  my  pick  and 
choice.  She  was  so  kind  and  motherly,  and  Jack  was  my 
second  self.  Now  and  then,  at  night,  after  she  had  cleared 
off  the  supper  table,  washed  the  dishes  and  put  them  away, 
she  would  take  me  into  her  big  warm  arms,  call  Jack  and  go 
down  to  her  cabin,  two  hundred  yards  below  the  "big  house". 
It  was  always  a  pleasure  to  go  down  there  and  hear  her  talk 
and  tell  stories.  She  would  often  gather  the  pickaninnies 
around  her,  and  for  an  hour  tell  some  of  the  most  startling 
things  about  "ghosts,  hants,  hobgoblins  and  raw  heads  and 
bloody  bones"  *hat  ever  fell  upon  childish  ears.  One  who 
never  heard  the  old  negroes  tell  these  stories  can  scarcely 
realize  what  it  meant  on  those  occasions.  Negroes  were  then 
very  superstitious  and  they  believed  in  "spooks"  with  all  their 
sincerity.  Aunt  Dinny  believed  in  them  as  much  as  she  be- 
lieved in  the  gospel.  And  she  made  me  believe  in  them,  too. 
While  she  would  tell  of  the  doings  of  the  ghosts  and  "hants" 
my  hair  would  stand  on  end  and  the  cold  rigors  would  run 
up  and  down  my  spine.  For  she  would  often  illustrate  the 
performances  of  these  uncanny  things  by  her  facial  expres- 
sions, her  peculiar  noises  and  her  bodily  contortions.  It  was 
something  frightful !  I  could  imagine  that  I  saw  the  "spirits" 
fitting  about  me  with  their  hollow  eyes  and  pale  faces. 


Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well  Remember  19 

I  actually  accepted  these  stories  as  the  simple  truth.  They 
were  realities  to  my  childish  mind  and  heart.  Aunt  Dinny  said 
she  had  seen  them  and  that  was  all  the  proof  I  desired.  And 
once  in  awhile  I  would  see  them,  too !  We  invariably  see  the 
things  for  which  we  are  looking,  for  we  largely  make  up  the 
world  of  feeling  and  imagination  in  which  we  live.  I  will  give 
you  one  example.  Two  miles  up  the  road  from  grandma's 
there  was  a  place  called  "Dug  Holler."  It  was  a  place  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  long,  where  the  road  went  between  the  points 
of  two  declining  hills,  and  this  part  of  it  had  been  dug  out  so 
as  to  make  it  a  level  road.  Hence  its  name.  On  either  side 
the  hills  gradually  rose  high,  and  toward  evening  this  "Dug 
Holler"  was  somber  and  shadowy.  Particularly  was  this  true 
on  a  damp,  cloudy  evening.  According  to  an  old  tradition  of 
the  negroes,  "Dug  Holler"  was  haunted,  and  they  usually 
gave  it  a  wide  berth  after  sundown. 

As  the  story  ran,  it  was  said  that  at  some  time  in  the  long 
ago,  one  cold,  drizzly  evening  just  after  sundown,  a  man  was 
riding  through  there  on  a  gray  horse  and  he  was  murdered. 
And  on  every  similar  evening  about  the  same  time  he  always 
appeared  there  on  the  side  of  the  road  without  any  head, 
galloping  that  gray  horse  and  making  fearful  noises.  He  was 
a  holy  terror.  It  so  happened  one  day,  in  my  boyhood  life, 
that  I  had  to  go  to  mill  on  old  Rufe  and  I  was  detained  longer 
than  I  had  calculated.  I  finally  got  my  grist  and  started  home 
But  it  was  about  dark  and  the  evening  was  cool  and  drizzly, 
just  such  a  night  when  that  haunt  was  said  to  materialize. 
I  had  to  pass  through  the  place,  for  there  was  no  way  around  it. 
As  I  came  up  to  its  approach  and  looked  into  the  gloom  before 
me,  my  heart  leaped  to  my  mouth  and  the  cold  sweat  broke 
out  on  me.  I  mustered  all  the  courage  possible,  put  the  lash 
under  Rufe's  flank,  and  made  the  dash  like  a  cvclone!     We 


20  The  Story  of  My  Life 

were  fairly  burning  the  wind  and  his  old  feet  were  beating  a 
gay  tune  as  they  hit  the  ground.  I  had  not  gone  far  into  the 
"holler"  until  I  heard  the  brush  crack  above  me  on  the  side 
of  the  hill  and  I  glanced  round  to  see  what  it  was.  To  my 
horror  there  galloped  the  white  horse  with  the  headless  man 
on  him,  and  his  groans  were  unearthly !  I  shut  my  eyes 
tightly,  flung  the  lash  that  much  harder  under  old  Rufe's  sides, 
and  the  old  horse  only  touched  the  earth  in  high  places.  By 
and  by  I  emerged  at  the  opposite  end,  but  the  quirt  did  not 
stop  its  operations  until  I  halted  at  the  yard  gate  at  grandma's. 
He  was  panting  like  a  steam  locomotive  and  there  was  not  a 
dry  hair  on  his  old  body. 

It  was  not  long  until  the  negroes  were  gathered  round  me 
listening  to  my  blood  and  thunder  adventure.  They  grew  very 
much  excited  as  I  related  the  details  of  my  experience,  and 
once  in  awhile  they  would  chime  in  with :  "I  tole  you  so ! 
Dat  chile's  tellin'  de  trufe.  I  seed  de  same  thing  wid  my  own 
eyes."  And  they  would  shake  their  heads,  swing  their  bodies, 
and  look  in  the  most  significant  way  at  each  other.  I  was  a 
veritable  hero,  and  I  rather  enjoyed  it;  but  I  am  sure  that  old 
Rufe  got  no  pleasure  out  of  the  performance.  However,  that 
experience  satisfied  me,  and  you  can  lay  down  your  bottom 
penny  that  I  never  again  went  through  "Dug  Holler"  after 
nightfall,  it  made  no  difference  whether  it  was  a  drizzly  even- 
ing or  a  moonlit  night!  There  is  no  doubt  that  I  saw  the 
ghost.    I  went  in  there  to  see  it  and  I  was  not  disappointed. 

The  influence  of  those  old  ghost  stories  has  followed  me  to 
this  day.  I  still  have  a  suspicious  dread  of  going  through 
dismal  places  after  night.  I  do  not  enjoy,  under  such  circum- 
stances, hearing  strange  and  hideous  noises.  It  always  gives 
me  the  shivers.  I  would  rather  walk  a  mile  out  of  my  way 
any  time  after  night  than  go  by  a  graveyard.     When  I  have 


Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well  Remember  21 

to  pass  such  a  place  at  night  I  always  quicken  my  pace  and 
my  pulse  becomes  uncomfortable.  I  do  not  like  to  see  the  new 
moon  in  its  changes  for  the  first  time  through  the  branches 
of  a  tree.  When  it  so  happens  I  find  myself  unconsciously 
going  through  some  mental  gyrations  akin  to  the  bodily  ones 
that  I  performed  when  I  was  a  boy.  When  I  start  on  a  journey 
and  a  rabbit  crosses  the  road  in  front  of  me  my  first  impulse 
is  to  turn  around,  make  a  cross  in  the  road  and  spit  over  my 
left  shoulder  at  it,  because  Aunt  Dinny  always  told  me  it  was 
bad  luck  not  to  do  it.  Yet  I  am  not  superstitious !  I  do  not 
believe  in  ghosts  and  hants,  except  such  as  I  create  in  my  own 
imagination.  I  know  that  no  such  things  exist.  But  the  effect 
of  those  old  negro  folklore  stories  lodged  in  my  subconscious- 
ness at  a  time  when  I  did  believe  in  them ;  and  despite  my  in- 
telligence the  law  of  suggestion  sometimes,  under  favorable 
circumstances,  throws  the  spell  of  those  old  stories  over  me 
and  I  have  the  rigors.  You  need  not  laugh  at  me,  for  nearly 
all  people  feel  queer  when  they  pass  a  lonely  way  and  some 
one  jumps  out  and  shouts  "Spooks !" 

Children  are  very  imitative  creatures.  They  do  what  they 
see  their  parents  or  older  people  do.  Jack  and  myself  were 
adepts  at  this  sort  of  business.  We  were  observant  and  took 
pleasure  in  reproducing  the  incidents  of  older  people.  One 
night  I  had  the  earache.  Grandma  saturated  a  bunch  of  cotton 
with  sweet  oil  and  put  it  in  my  ear,  but  it  did  not  relieve  me. 
So  she  cut  the  leg  off  of  an  old  sock,  filled  it  with  warm  ashes 
and  laid  that  on  my  ear  and  the  pain  subsided.  A  few  days 
after  that  grandma  was  taken  sick  and  the  old  family  doctor 
came  to  see  her.  He  sat  down  by  her  bed,  looked  at  her  tongue 
and  felt  her  pulse.  He  threw  his  saddlebags  across  his  knee 
and  took  out  a  vial  with  powders  in  it.  He  took  some  strips 
of  paper,  poured  some  of  the  powders  on  each,  rolled  them  up 


22  The  Story  of  My  Life 

and  crimped  the  ends  and  left  directions  how  to  give  them. 
Grandma  soon  recovered. 

After  that,  one  morning,  Aunt  Dinny  was  down  at  the  cow- 
gap,  and  Jack  and  myself  were  in  the  kitchen  by  the  fire. 
Jack  suggested  that  we  play  sick  man  and  doctor.  He  was 
the  sick  man  and  I  was  the  doctor.  He  stretched  himself  on 
a  short  bench  and  I  seated  myself  by  him.  I  looked  at  his 
tongue,  felt  his  pulse  and  with  an  old  pewter  spoon  I  shoveled 
up  some  flour,  poured  it  on  some  slips  of  paper  and  crimped 
their  ends ;  for  we  had  sat  interestingly  by  and  saw  old  Doctor 
Moore  do  the  same  thing  when  grandma  was  sick.  I  admin- 
istered a  few  doses  and  soon  had  him  on  his  feet.  Then  I 
suggested  that  he  have  an  attack  of  earache,  and  soon  he  was 
lying  prone  upon  the  bench  groaning  for  dear  life.  I  took  a 
wad  of  cotton,  dipped  it  into  a  plate  of  gravy  and  soused  it 
into  his  ear.  But  this  did  not  relieve  him.  I  did  not  have 
the  sock  leg,  so  I  plunged  the  spoon  into  what  I  thought  was 
a  bed  of  warm  ashes  and  poured  them  in  on  the  cotton. 

Then  something  happened,  and  it  happened  quickly.  Jack 
sprang  from  the  bench  with  the  agility  of  a  gray  squirrel, 
knocked  over  a  stack  of  soiled  dishes  and  shattered  them  as 
they  fell,  darted  through  the  door  like  a  streak  of  lightning 
and  disappeared  through  the  orchard  gate  like  a  disembodied 
spirit,  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice!  Grandma  came  rushing 
from  the  sitting-room,  Uncle  Martin  ran  around  the  house 
from  the  woodpile,  and  next,  Aunt  Dinny  appeared  from  the 
cowgap  in  time  to  see  the  hole  that  Jack  cauterized  in  the  air, 
and  they  gave  chase.  Uncle  Martin  was  the  fleetest  of  foot 
and  he  soon  ran  Jack  down  and  brought  him  to  bay.  Grandma 
was  next,  and  then  Aunt  Dinny,  and  Jack  was  still  emitting 
hideous  yells.  Grandma  cried  out  to  him  to  know  what  in  the 
world  was  the  matter!     With  the  big  tears  running  down  his 


Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well  Remember  23 

black  cheeks,  he  finally  caught  his  breath  and  said  between 
sobs :  "We  was  a  playin'  sick  man  and  Doctor,  and  Goge  po'd 
hot  ashes  in  my  yar."  Grandma  jerked  his  hand  down  and  saw 
the  smoking  cotton  and  gravy,  and  hastened  to  gouge  it  out. 
While  the  rim  of  his  ear  was  slightly  blistered,  no  serious 
damage  was  done,  because  the  cotton  had  protected  the  ear. 
In  the  meantime  I  had  run  upstairs  and  crawled  under  the 
bed,  for  I  was  frightened  worse  than  Jack.  I  thought  I  had 
killed  him,  and  I  was  crying  lustily.  And  as  I  heard  them 
coming  through'  the  gate  with  Jack,  and  listened  to  his  sobs, 
I  set  up  even  a  louder  howl.  Jack  soon  told  them  in  detail 
how  the  catastrophe  had  occurred,  and  when  they  saw  that  no 
serious  hurt  had  been  done,  they  all  had  a  big  laugh.  But 
there  was  no  laugh  for  Jack  and  there  was  none  for  me.  To 
both  of  us  it  was  a  serious  affair.  Aunt  Dinny  heard  my  cries 
and  she  rushed  upstairs,  looked  under  the  bed  and  said :  "Law 
massie,  chile !  Jack  ain't  hurt.  You  come  right  out  heah  to 
yo  Aunt  Dinny  and  we'll  go  and  see  Jack."  I  came  out  and 
she  went  down  with  me  and  there  was  poor  Jack  looking  a 
most  forlorn  sight.  He  looked  up  at  me  and  said :  "Yo'  didn't 
know  dem  ashes  was  hot,  did  yo',  Goge?"  It  was  not  long 
until  Jack  was  well  supplied  with  cake  and  maple  sugar  from 
grandma's  sideboard ;  but  I  never  did  again  practice  medicine 
on  Jack  for  the  earache. 

While  I  am  writing  about  Jack  I  will  skip  over  three  or 
four  years  and  relate  a  final  incident  concerning  him  and  my- 
self. Grandma  gave  Jack  to  her  youngest  son  and  he  became 
involved  in  debt.  So  he  determined  to  sell  the  boy  in  order 
to  meet  his  obligations.  Grandma  did  her  utmost  in  the  way 
of  protest  and  importunity,  but  it  did  no  good.  He  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  the  sale  had  to  be  consummated  and  he 
would  listen  to  neither  argument  nor  appeal.     It  frequently 


24 


The  Story  of  My  Life. 


Jack,  My  Little  Negro  Chum. 


Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well  Remember  25 

occurred  in  those  days  that  such  sales  were  made  to  negro 
traders  for  purposes  of  speculation.  This  was  the  nightmare 
of  the  negroes,  for  when  they  fell  into  such  hands  they  were 
driven  off  and  sold  to  cotton  planters  down  South  and  they 
were  never  more  heard  of.  So  my  young  uncle  satisfied  his 
conscience  by  telling  grandma  that  he  would  not  think  of  sell- 
ing Jack  to  speculators  who  would  send  him  far  away,  but 
that  he  would  let  a  man  only  a  few  miles  away,  by  the  name 
of  Andy  Ramsey,  have  him  and  this  would  keep  him  near 
his  mother. 

Grandma  had  to  break  the  news  to  Aunt  Dinny  and  it  was 
something  that  she  greatly  dreaded,  for  she  was  very  much 
attached  to  her  old  servant  and  it  would  pain  her  to  witness 
her  grief.     She  put  it  off  until  the  afternoon  before  Ramsey 
was  to  come  after  Jack;  and  then  she  went  to  her  little  cabin 
and  as  delicately  as  possible  told  her  of  what  was  going  to 
happen.      I   shall   never   forget  the  agonizing   cry  that  came 
from  her  old  husky  throat  when  it  dawned  on  her  that  Jack 
was  already  sold  and  would  have  to  leave  the  next  morning. 
Jack  and  myself  were  playing  in  the  yard  and  we  heard  the 
cry,  but  did  not  know  what  it  meant.     I  followed  grandma 
back  to  the  "big  house"  and  Jack  went  to  his  mamma's  cabin. 
I  begged  grandma  to  tell  me  what  was  the  matter  and  when 
she  told  me  I  was  stunned.     In  the  meantime  Aunt  Dinny 
had  taken  Jack  into  her  arms  and  told  him.    I  went  out  to  the 
cabin  to  mingle  my  tears  with  theirs,  but  Jack  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen.     I  went  to  the  yard,  for  I  heard  his  voice  in 
lamentation.    And  there  in  the  chimney  corner,  with  his  face 
turned  to  the  cold  bricks,  stood  Jack  sobbing  most  piteously. 
I  went  up  to  him  and  put  my  head  against  him  and  we  cried 
ourselves  almost  sick.    That  was  late  in  the  evening,  and  the 
next  morning  Ramsey  was  to  come  after  him. 


j  The  Story  of  My  Life 

To  me  and  to  Jack  that  was  a  sorrowful  night.  Grandma 
tried  to  comfort  Aunt  Dinny,  but  there  was  no  comfort  for 
her.  It  was  like  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children  because 
they  were  not.  True,  she  was  an  old  black  woman,  with  no 
sort  of  education;  but  she  had  a  heart  and  it  was  bleeding. 
Then  and  there  it  dawned  on  me  that  Jack  was  a  slave  and 
could  be  sold  just  like  a  horse  or  a  cow.  I  could  not  under- 
stand it,  for  until  then  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  that  my 
chum  was  not  as  free  as  myself.  It  was  late  before  I  went 
to  sleep,  and  by  morning  I  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
my  uncle  was  about  the  meanest  man  upon  the  earth.  But 
he  was  not.  It  was  one  of  the  customs  of  the  age,  and  usually 
it  was  common,  as  I  afterwards  learned.  Poor  Jack  was  the 
victim  of  an  evil,  though  a  lawful  institution.  But  in  my 
young  heart  I  learned  to  hate  it,  because  of  its  effect  upon 
Jack  and  Aunt  Dinny. 

Nine  o'clock  arrived,  but  Ramsey  had  not  come.  I  hoped 
that  he  had  died  during  the  night  and  that  he  would  never 
come.  But  after  awhile  I  gazed  down  the  road  and  saw  him 
coming  over  the  hill  on  his  gray  horse.  My  heart  sank  within 
me.  Jack  saw  him1,  too,  and  he  ran  crying  down  to  his 
mamma's  cabin,  threw  himself  into  her  arms  and  begged  her 
not  to  let  the  man  take  him.  She  tried  to  comfort  him,  but 
there  was  no  comfort  in  her  own  poor  old  heart,  and  she 
could  impart  none  to  the  ignorant  little  black  boy.  Ramsey 
went  down  and  got  him  and  spoke  kindly  to  him,  telling  him 
he  would  let  him  come  back  occasionally  to  see  his  old  mammy. 
He  took  him  up  behind  him  and  rode  away,  and  I  watched 
him  as  far  as  I  could  see  him  and  when  he  disappeared  from 
view  I  buried  my  head  in  grandma's  lap  and  sobbed  myself 
into  hysterics.  And  grandma  cried,  too,  for  she  was  a  very 
tender-hearted  woman. 


Some  Early  Incidents  I  Well  Remember  2J 

For  days  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  myself.  I  would 
start  up  at  times  and  it  seemed  that  I  could  see  Jack  around 
the  house;  then  again  I  imagined  that  I  could  hear  his  voice 
calling  me.  But  it  was  only  a  dream.  He  was  gone  and  I 
was  sad  and  lonely.  I  could  not  think  of  Jack  without  bursting 
into  tears,  and  poor  old  Aunt  Dinny  never  did  get  over  the 
shock.  She  brooded  over  her  loss  until  she  became  melancholy. 
I  never  again  saw  a  smile  on  her  face.  She  pined  away  and 
finally  died  of  a  broken  heart.  These  two  events,  the  sale  of 
Jack  and  the  death  of  Aunt  Dinny,  made  up  the  sum  total  of 
my  boyhood  sorrow.  To  that  date  I  had  known  none.  But 
these  two  black  people  had  so  intertwined  themselves  with 
my  life  that  they  had  become  a  part  of  it,  and  I  was  incom- 
plete without  them.  I  was  the  only  white  child  about  grand- 
ma's place  and,  except  her,  Aunt  Dinny  and  Jack  were  my 
sole  companions.  Now  they  were  gone  and  grandma's  was 
no  longer  like  home  to  me.  It  became  the  lonesomest  place 
in  the  world  to  me. 

Slavery,  as  grandma  conducted  it,  was  not  an  evil.  She 
and  her  negroes  were  like  one  great  family.  She  trusted  them 
and  they  rarely  ever  disobeyed  or  deceived  her.  They  knew 
her  so  well  and  she  knew  them  so  well  that  her  wish  was  their 
law.  She  managed  them  like  a  wise  mother  manages  her 
children.  But  the  abuses  of  slavery  rendered  it  an  odious 
institution.  When  it  made  goods  and  chattels  out  of  husbands 
and  wives  and  children,  it  became  brutal.  But  Southern 
people  were  not  responsible  for  the  evil.  Northern  people 
first  brought  them  from  their  native  Africa,  or  bought  them 
from  those  who  did  bring  them  by  ship  to  this  country.  But 
the  Northern  climate  was  not  adapted  to  them,  and  they  were 
not  adapted  to  Northern  industry.  The  slave  was  adapted  to 
a  warm  climate  and  to  plantation  life.     Hence  the  Northern 


28  The  Story  of  My  Life 

people  soon  realized  this  and  shipped  them  South  and  sold 
them  to  Southern  people.  As  they  multiplied  they  became 
more  useful  on  farms  and  public  utilities ;  and  after  the  cotton 
gin  was  invented  the  negro  became  indispensable  to  the  South. 

Greed  then  got  in  its  work  and  gradually  slavery  degen- 
erated into  an  evil  both  to  the  negroes  and  to  the  Southern 
people.  And  out  of  it  grew  the  bloodiest  civil  revolution  that 
ever  shocked  the  moral  sense  of  the  world. 

In  the  impact  of  that  revolution  slavery  died,  but  with  its 
death  the  soil  of  our  country  was  washed  in  the  blood  of  mul- 
tiplied thousands  of  the  bravest  men  that  ever  drew  a  sword 
upon  the  field  of  battle.  As  an  institution  it  is  dead  and  gone 
forever,  and  the  old-time  Southern  slave,  the  very  best  type 
of  the  negro  race,  is  very  nearly  extinct  today.  A  new  gen- 
eration of  negroes,  as  freemen,  has  come  upon  the  scene  of 
action;  and  our  children  now  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  what 
slavery  was,  or  of  the  old-time  negro  slave.  But  those  of  us 
who  lived  back  in  those  days,  and  had  warm  attachments  for 
the  old  black  mammy  and  her  angular  black  boy,  often  live 
amid  the  memories  of  those  extinct  associations,  and  we 
cherish  them  as  the  happiess  recollections  of  life. 

I  have  thrown  this  chapter  into  this  book  that  this  generation 
of  our  children  may  have  some  insight  into  the  relations  and 
cherished  friendships  of  a  condition  of  things  now  gone  for- 
ever. I  sometimes  feel  sad  when  I  dwell  upon  these  memories. 
I  indulge  the  hope  that  some  sweet  day,  when  I  cross  the 
borderland  where  colors  and  distinctions  are  unknown  and 
where  God  is  the  Father  of  us  all,  in  some  way  I  will 
meet  Aunt  Dinny  and  Jack  under  skies  that  never  become 
clouded,  amid  landscapes  where  the  frost  never  falls,  and  be- 
side silvery  streams  that  flow  on  forever. 


Chapter  III 

An  Old-Time  Election  in  East 
Tennessee,  and  Else 

In  the  earlier  days,  long  before  the  railroads  ran  through 
that  section,  East  Tennessee  was  a  country  to  itself.  Its  to- 
pography made  it  such.  Its  people  were  a  peculiar  people — 
rugged,  honest  and  unique.  I  doubt  if  their  kind  was  ever 
known  under  other  circumstances.  Hundreds  of  thern  were 
well-to-do,  and  now  and  then,  in  the  more  fertile  communities, 
there  was  actual  wealth.  Especially  was  this  true  along  the 
beautiful  water-courses  where  the  farm  lands  are  unequaled, 
even  to  this  good  day. 

Among  them  were  people  of  intelligence  and  high  ideals. 
No  country  could  boast  of  a  finer  grade  of  men  and  women 
than  lived  and  flourished  in  portions  of  that  "Switzerland  of 
America."  Their  ministers  and  lawyers  and  politicians  were 
men  of  unusual  talent.  Some  of  the  most  eloquent  men  pro- 
duced in  the  United  States  were  born  and  flourished  in  East 
Tennessee. 

Those  evergreen  hills  and  sun-tipped  mountains,  covered 
with  a  verdant  forest  in  summer  and  gorgeously  decorated 
with  every  variety  of  autumnal  hue  in  the  fall  and  winter; 
those  foaming  rivers  and  leaping  cascades ;  the  scream  of  the 
eagle  by  day  and  the  weird  hoot  of  the  owl  by  night — all  these 
natural  environments  conspired  to  make  men  hardy  and  their 


30  The  Story  of  My  Life 

speech  pictorial  and  romantic.  As  a  result,  there  were  among 
them  men  of  native  eloquence,  veritable  sons  of  thunder  in 
the  pulpit,  before  the  bar,  and  on  the  hustings. 

But  far  back  from  these  better  advantages  of  soil  and  in- 
stitutions of  learning,  in  the  gorges,  on  the  hills,  along  the 
ravines  and  amid  the  mountains,  the  great  throbbing  masses 
of  the  people  were  of  a  different  type  and  belonged  almost 
to  another  civilization.  They  were  rugged,  natural  and  pic- 
turesque. With  exceptions,  they  were  not  people  of  books ; 
they  did  not  know  the  art  of  letters ;  they  were  simple,  crude, 
sincere  and  physically  brave.  They  enjoyed  the  freedom  of 
the  hills,  the  shadows  of  the  rocks  and  the  grandeur  of  the 
mountains.  They  were  a  robust  set  of  men  and  women,  whose 
dress  was  mostly  homespun,  whose  muscles  were  tough,  whose 
countenances  were  swarthy,  and  whose  rifles  were  their  de- 
fense. They  took  an  interest  in  whatever  transpired  in  their 
own  localities  and  in  the  more  favored  sections  of  their  more 
fortunate  neighbors.  They  were  social,  and  practiced  the  law 
of  reciprocity  long  before  Uncle  Sam  tried  to  establish  it 
between  this  country  and  Canada. 

Who  among  us,  having  lived  in  that  garden  spot  of  the 
world,  can  ever  forget  the  old-fashioned  house-raisings,  the 
rough  and  tumble  log-rollings,  the  frosty  corn-shuckings,  the 
road-workings  and  the  quilting-bees  ? 

And  when  the  day's  work  was  over — then  the  supper — after 
that  the  fiddle  and  the  bow,  and  the  old  Virginia  reel.  None 
but  a  registered  East  Tennessean,  in  his  memory,  can  do  jus- 
tice to  experiences  like  those.  No  such  things  ever  happened 
in  just  that  way  anywhere  on  the  face  of  the  earth  except  in 
that  land  of  the  skies. 

Therefore,  the  man  who  even  thinks  of  those  East  Tennes- 
seans  as  sluggards  and  ignoramuses  who  got  nothing  out  of 


An  Old-Time  Election  in  East  Tennessee,  and  Else      31 

life  is  wide  of  the  mark.  They  had  sense  of  the  horse  kind; 
and  they  were  people  of  good  though  crude  morals.  No  such 
thing  as  a  divorce  was  known  among  them.  It  was  rare  that 
one  of  them  ever  went  to  jail  in  our  section;  and,  if  he  did,  he 
was  disgraced  for  life. 

I  never  knew,  in  my  boyhood,  of  but  one  man  going  to  the 
penitentiary  and  it  was  a  shock  to  the  whole  country.  While 
they  had  their  stills,  made  their  own  brandy,  and  did  pretty 
much  as  they  pleased,  yet  in  the  main  they  were  orderly  and 
law-abiding. 

They  were  all  born  politicians  and  took  the  profoundest  in- 
terest in  the  elections.  They  depended  largely  for  their  ideas 
of  politics  upon  the  politicians  of  that  day  who  often  passed 
through  the  country  and  entertained  them  with  speaking. 
They  would  drop  everything  in  order  to  hear  some  leading 
man  speak,  and  they  were  very  evenly  divided  between  the 
Whigs  and  the  Democrats.  Leading  men  of  that  day,  in  times 
of  great  political  excitement,  would  visit  our  locality  and  have 
all-day  speakings.  They  would  have  great  barbecues  and  joint 
discussions.  Men  like  Andrew  Johnson,  Nat  G.  Taylor, 
Landon  C.  Haynes,  Thomas  A.  R.  Nelson,  W.  G.  Brownlow, 
Colonel  John  Netherland,  and  men  of  lesser  note,  were  familiar 
characters  on  the  hustings.  I  doubt  if  men  of  greater  ability 
on  the  platform  than  these  could  be  found  in  any  State  in  the 
Union.  They  were  well  trained  in  the  arts  of  public  speech 
and  their  eloquence  was  of  the  passionate  and  fiery  character, 
and  they  often  lashed  their  respective  followings  into  the 
wildest  excitement. 

I  have  witnessed  political  upheavals,  under  the  oratory  of 
those  spellbinders,  almost  like  a  storm  upon  the  bosom  of  an 
angry  ocean.  Therefore,  people  in  those  hills  and  mountains 
and  valleys,   sitting  under  the  teachings  of  such  leaders  as 


32  The  Story  of  My  Life 

those  of  that  day,  were  not  ignorant  of  the  politics  of  their 
times.  Even  if  many  of  them  were  ignorant  of  books  and 
papers,  and  if  hundreds  of  them  never  ventured  across  the 
borderline  of  their  own  counties,  they  were  all  apprised  of 
what  was  going  on  in  the  great  political  world  of  their  day. 
They  learned  from  the  living  sources  of  wisdom,  for  they 
had  the  advantages  of  the  most  eloquent  expounders  of  De- 
mocracy and  Whiggery  that  the  world  afforded.  The  most 
stupid  looking  hill-billie,  and  the  veriest  hairy-legged  old  moun- 
taineer both  knew  Why  he  was  a  Democrat  and  why  he  was 
a  Whig. 

Yes,  the  native  East  Tennessean  has  always  been  a  well- 
informed  man  on  the  political  issues  of  the  day. 

Now  I  am  sure  that  after  these  explanatory  remarks  the 
reader  is  prepared  to  appreciate  my  description  of  an  old-time 
election  in  East  Tennessee.  It  was  held  in  a  cabin  in  one 
corner  of  the  yard  surrounding  my  grandma's  home.  It  in- 
volved both  National  and  State  issues,  and  its  local  features 
added  to  the  interest.  No  such  scenes  are  possible  today  as 
I  witnessed  on  that  occasion.  In  fact,  I  doubt  if  they  ever  did 
occur  anywhere  else  except  in  that  mountain  region.  Even 
there  they  have  become  memories,  but  they  are  memories  rare 
and  worth  repeating. 

It  was  on  a  cold  drizzly  day  in  November.  The  country 
for  months  had  been  wrought  into  a  frenzy  of  interest  and 
the  party  lines  were  tightly  drawn.  The  hills  and  the  moun- 
tains disgorged  themselves  and  the  place  was  alive  with  the 
most  original  class  of  men  ever  gathered  at  the  polls.  They 
were  there  early  and  they  remained  until  late.  They  kept 
coming,  and  no  one  left;  and  by  noon  you  could  scarcely  stir 
them  with  a  stick. 

I  was  seated  at  the  window  in  my  grandma's  front  room 


An  Old-Time  Election  in  East  Tennessee,  and  Else      33 

looking  at  them.  Just  to  the  right  of  the  voting  place,  roped 
off  to  itself,  were  the  Whig  headquarters.  Near  by  it  was  a 
barrel  turned  up  on  end  with  the  head  knocked  in  and  three 
or  four  long-handled  gourds  were  hanging  down  in  the  con- 
tents. It  was  homemade  apple  brandy.  About  the  same  dis- 
tance to  the  left  the  Democrats  had  their  rallying  point  simi- 
larly hedged  in,  and  in  the  center  the  same  sort  of  a  barrel 
with  the  same  long-handled  gourds.  To  those  in  sympathy 
with  each  party  thus  represented  these  refreshments  were  as 
free  as  the  water  in  the  stream  near  by.  There  were  no  elec- 
tion laws  or  officious  officers  to  interfere  with  their  enjoyment. 
They  were  the  freest  and  easiest-going  lot  upon  which  my 
eyes  ever  gazed.  The  leaders  and  the  workers  were  busy,  and 
when  they  would  succeed  in  voting  some  man  their  way  a 
great  shout  would  rend  the  air. 

Along  toward  noon  many  of  them  were  under  a  heavy  head 
of  steam  and  they  were  feeling  their  keeping.  Then  it  was 
that  the  fun  began.  One  stern  old  hill-billie,  with  jean-pants 
and  coat  on,  and  an  old  hat  through  the  top  of  which  his  hair 
was  waving  in  the  wind,  became  very  boisterous.  It  took  two 
or  three  of  his  friends  to  hold  him.  By  and  by  he  broke  away 
from  them  and  rushed  out  into  the  big  road,  and  it  was  red 
clay  and  muddy.  He  threw  his  old  hat  up  in  the  air,  jerked 
off  his  coat,  rolled  up  his  sleeves,  spit  on  his  hands  and  shook 
himself  vigorously.  He  swore  that  he  was  Andy  Johnson's 
jack  and  that  the  crowd  had  no  '"blanked"  Whig  that  could 
comb  his  mane.  And  then  he  swaggered  round  and  brayed 
like  a  wild  ass  of  the  desert.  The  Whigs  looked  on  for  a 
moment,  and  then  an  old  mountaineer  threw  off  his  coat,  ex- 
posing a  hairy  breast,  jumped  three  feet  high  and  cracked 
his  heels  together  like  two  clapboards,  and  vowed  that  he  was 
the  "chap  what  could  curry  that  jack." 


34  The  Story  of  My  Life 

The  Whigs  gathered  around  their  man  and  the  Democrats 
about  theirs,  and  preparations  for  the  trial  of  strength  were 
soon  in  operation.  They  made  a  big  ring  in  the  mud,  adopted 
a  few  simple  regulations,  put  the  two  combatants  in  it,  and 
then  shouted :  "Stand  back,  everybody,  and  gim'um  a  chance!" 
The  two  bullies,  well  tanked  up,  went  at  each  other  after  the 
manner  of  a  hammer-and-tongs  and  fist-and-skull  fashion. 
But  they  were  too  tipsy  to  do  each  other  serious  injury  and 
they  were  given  uninterrupted  scope.  They  grappled  like  two 
clumsy  grizzlies.  They  scratched,  they  punched,  they  bit, 
they  pulled  hair,  and  they  growled  most  ferociously.  Round 
and  round  they  butted  and  pushed,  until  they  were  well-nigh 
exhausted.  The  crowd  stood  around  and  cheered,  alternately, 
as  each  side  received  encouragement.  But  it  became  apparent 
that  the  old  mountaineer  was  outwinding  the  hill-billie,  and 
finally  the  latter  went  down  in  a  heap  with  the  former  on 
top,  with  his  thumbs  in  his  opponent's  eyes.  It  was  soon  all 
over,  and  the  bottom  man  cried  out  "Nuff !" 

The  Whigs  rushed  in  and  pulled  their  man  off.  They  took 
him  amid  loud  shouting  to  their  headquarters,  scraped  some 
of  the  mud  off  of  him  and  washed  the  blood  from  his  face,  and 
gave  him  a  copious  drink  from  a  well-filled  gourd.  It  was  not 
long  until  the  champion  began  to  swell  with  pride  over  his 
victory  and  a  feeling  came  over  him  that  he  could  do  up 
every  Democrat  on  the  hill.  No  one  seemed  anxious  to  dispute 
it,  and  this  increased  his  dares  and  banters.  He  walked  out 
into  the  road  in  rather  a  dilapidated  air,  shook  himself  and 
gritted  his  teeth  and  said:  "I'm  Brownlow's  ram,  and  there 
ain't  enough  Andy  Johnson's  jacks  in  the  paster  to  take  the 
cockleburs  out'n  my  wool."  And  he  bent  his  huge  body 
and  shook  his  tangled  locks  like  the  leader  of  the  fiock. 

About  that  time  a  big  hill-billie  caught  the  inspiration  from 


An  Old-Time  Election  in  East  Tennessee,  and  Else      35 

the  juice,  and  off  went  his  coat  and  into  the  air  went  his  hat, 
and  he  exclaimed:  "Pm  the  catamount  what  can  claw  the 
burs  out'n  that  old  buck's  wool."  And  in  a  twinkling  of  an 
eye  they  were  locked  in  each  other's  embrace.  But  the  old 
mountaineer  was  too  exhausted  from  his  other  contest  to  hold 
out  long,  and  he  was  soon  ready  for  the  junkpile.  Then  in 
turn  he  cried  out :    "Nuff !" 

Thus  at  intervals  between  the  voting  spells  that  crowd  did 
not  do  anything  the  rest  of  the  day  but  patronize  those  barrels 
and  devote  the  rest  of  the  time  to  currying  Andy  Johnson's 
jacks  and  shearing  Brownlow's  rams.  When  they  became  too 
helpless  to  accept  each  other's  banters,  they  were  a  sight  to 
behold.  I  never  before  or  since  saw  as  many  men  with  bloody 
noses,  bitten  ears,  black  eyes  and  muddy  backs.  They  looked 
more  like  subdued  beasts  than  men.  But,  be  it  said  to  their 
courage  and  good  sense,  there  was  not  brought  into  play 
during  the  whole  of  those  pugilistic  performances  a  stone,  a 
club,  a  knife  or  a  gun.  It  was  a  contest  of  fists  and  nothing 
else,  except  where  the  teeth  happened  to  get  in  their  work. 
Hence  there  was  no  serious  damage  done  to  anybody,  and 
no  ill  feelings  or  feuds  followed  as  a  result.  They  drank  and 
fought  it  out,  and  that  ended  it.  They  seemed  to  have  no 
malice  or  ill  will.  It  was  a  well  understood  part  of  the  election 
exhibition  and  when  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  ridiculous  comedy 
it  became  ancient  history. 

But  when  the  day  came  to  a  close  and  the  count  began,  at 
least  three-fourths  of  that  crowd  were  completely  out  of  com- 
mission. They  were  lying  around  in  the  fence  corners  like 
snoozing  swine.  What  to  do  with  them  was  a  responsibility 
left  on  grandma's  hands,  for  all  of  them  able  to  perambulate 
went  toward  their  homes.  She  could  not  take  them  into  her 
house.    In  the  first  place,  there  were  too  many  of  them;  and 


36  The  Story  of  My  Life 

in  the  second,  they  were  not  fit  to  enter  a  house  where  human 
beings  lived.  So  she  got  four  or  five  of  the  negro  men,  lighted 
her  lantern,  and  had  them'  dragged  into  the  stable.  This  was 
ample  and  it  was  the  best  she  could  do.  Had  they  stayed  out 
in  that  cold,  drizzly  night  they  would  have  frozen,  for  before 
morning  the  rain  ceased  and  a  slight  freeze  set  in.  In  the 
stable  they  would  at  least  sleep  off  their  stupor  and  wake  up 
and  be  able  to  pull  for  home.  So  she  stabled  the  last  hoof  of 
them  and  securely  barred  the  doors. 

The  next  morning,  before  day,  we  heard  them  squalling  like 
mad  panthers  and  pounding  for  dear  life  on  the  doors.  They 
were  sober,  cold,  mad  and  boisterous.  Failing  with  the  doors, 
they  began  to  climb  into  the  loft  and  to  come  down  through 
the  hay  windows  on  the  outside,  and  for  a  half  hour  we  could 
hear  the  echoes  of  their  voices  coming  back  from  the  hills  and 
gorges  until  the  sound  died  away  in  the  grim  distance. 

The  next  morning  the  negroes  had  a  job  cleaning  out  that 
stable  and  making  it  a  fit  place  for  the  horses  and  mules.  As 
to  how  the  election  went,  not  many  of  them  had  any  idea,  and 
did  not  seem  to  care.  They  had  been  to  the  election,  had  a  big 
time,  and  they  were  satisfied. 

Along  in  the  day  Mrs.  John  Edington,  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  hill-billies  who  took  part  in  the  previous  day's  proceedings, 
came  down  to  grandma's  with  her  two  boys.  I  knew  them 
very  well,  for  they  occasionally  made  pilgrimages  to  grandma's 
to  sell  her  maple  sugar  in  the  late  winter.  She  had  a  distressed 
face  and  she  asked  grandma  if  she  had  seen  anything  of  John. 
She  said  he  had  left  home  early  the  day  before  to  come  to  the 
election  and  she  had  not  seen  nor  heard  of  him  since.  She 
was  told  that  he  was  among  those  who  had  been  drinking  a 
good  deal,  but  that  after  dark  he  had  left  and  we  had  not  seen 
anything  further  of  him.     She  said  she  was  greatly  alarmed, 


MRS.  G.  C.  RANKIN 


An  Old-Time  Election  in  East  Tennessee,  and  Else      2>7 

that  she  feared  something  dreadful  had  happened  to  him,  and 
that  she  had  not  slept  any  all  night. 

Grandma  called  up  several  negroes  and  told  them  they  must 
start  out  along  all  the  byways  and  look  for  the  lost  man,  and 
she  went  along  with  some  of  them.  Of  course  I  went,  too. 
We  searched  the  paths  leading  in  her  direction,  and  we  looked 
on  the  hillsides  also.  In  an  hour  or  so  we  heard  Uncle  Martin 
away  down  the  gorge  toward  a  noted  spring  shout  out,  "Heah 
he  is !"  We  all  began  to  converge  at  the  spring  and  there 
lay  poor  old  John  Edington  with  his  head  down  in  the  water, 
cold  and  stark  in  death.  He  had  evidently  lost  his  way  and 
wandered  to  the  spring  and  lay  down  to  get  a  drink  and  was 
too  boozy  and  cold  to  pull  himself  out  and  he  drowned.  We 
got  him  out  and  laid  him  on  his  back  and  his  cold,  glassy  eyes 
vacantly  gazed  up  into  the  heavens.  As  long  as  I  live  I  shall 
never  forget  the  agonizing  cries  of  that  poor  simple-hearted 
woman.  The  two  boys  helped  to  fill  the  gorge  with  their  dis- 
tressing lamentations. 

I  learned  right  there  to  despise  whiskey-making  and  whiskey- 
drinking  and  became  an  inveterate  enemy  to  the  monster  evil. 
My  young  eyes  saw  at  once  what  it  had  done  for  that  poor 
woman  and  those  two  boys.  It  made  a  widow  out  of  her  and 
it  made  orphans  out  of  them.  They  let  it  alone,  but  it  did 
not  let  them  alone.  And  just  what  it  did  for  that  poor  woman 
and  those  two  boys  in  the  good  old  days  of  which  we  have 
heard  so  much,  when  everybody  had  whiskey  and  it  flowed 
like  water,  and  at  a  time  when  the  citizen  was  not  vexed  by 
the  officious  prohibitionists  who  want  to  regulate  other  people's 
habits,  it  has  continued  to  do  for  unfortunate  women  and 
children  from  that  far-off  day  until  the  present  time.  Its 
diabolical  business  is  to  send  men  to  hell,  and  to  make  widow- 
hood and  orphanage  as  common  along  the  highways  of  life 


38  fhe  Story  of  My  Life 

as  the  wild  flowers  that  grew  on  the  native  hills  and  mountains 
of  East  Tennessee  in  the  long  ago. 

When  I  saw  its  work  at  that  spring,  in  the  presence  of 
ghastly  death,  I  swore  eternal  enmity  to  it,  and  the  increasing 
years  have  only  intensified  my  uncompromising  opposition  to 
its  mission  among  men.  As  long  as  I  live  my  battle  cry  will 
be  heard :    On  with  the  battle  against  it! 

One  other  institution  of  the  hill  country  deserves  a  passing 
notice,  and  that  was  the  "Old  Field  School".  It  flourished  in 
all  its  glory  in  my  early  childhood.  It  no  longer  exists,  but  it 
was  prominent  then.  You  sometimes  see  it  caricatured  by 
modern  amateurs  for  the  amusement  of  those  who  occasion- 
ally get  up  social  or  church  entertainments ;  but,  to  appreciate 
it  you  had  to  attend  it  and  become  a  part  of  it.  True,  in 
certain  communities,  back  in  those  times,  you  would  here  and 
there  find  good  schools.  Newport  had  one  taught  by  a  West 
Pointer,  and  it  was  famous;  but  I  am  now  speaking  of  the 
school  in  the  hills  and  the  mountains.  The  first  institution  I 
ever  attended  was  the  "Old  Field  School". 

It  was  built  of  logs,  and  about  twelve  feet  wide  by  twenty 
long.  It  was  located  in  a  typical  old  field  with  a  proverbial 
rail  fence  around  it.  It  was  chinked  and  daubed,  had  a  very 
rough  floor,  and  its  benches  were  rude  and  undressed  and  had 
no  backs  to  them.  It  never  heard  of  desks.  The  benches  were 
arranged  crosswise.  The  teacher  sat  in  front  near  an  old- 
fashioned  jamb,  answering  for  a  fireplace.  The  chimney  was 
a  stick -and-dirt  structure  and  had  to  be  propped  to  hold  it  in 
place.  About  six  feet  across  the  back  ran  a  wide,  smooth 
plank,  just  under  a  long  window  made  by  cutting  out  the 
upper  side  and  the  lower  side  of  two  of  the  logs,  and  over  the 
opening  was  tightly  stretched  a  piece  of  thick  domestic,  as 
there  was  no  glass  to  put  in  for  windowpanes.     This  let  in 


An  Old-Time  Election  in  East  Tennessee,  and  Else      39 

the  light.  The  pens  used  were  made  of  goosequills  and  the 
ink  from  the  bark  of  swamp  maple.  This  was  the  writing- 
place  and  those  who  took  penmanship  practiced  it  on  this 
writing-board. 

The  teacher  was  a  thick,  heavy-set  man,  with  a  rugged  face, 
stiff  red  hair  and  shaggy  brows.  To  me  he  had  a  look  of 
terror.  And  this  was  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  in  the  corner 
near  him  stood  three  or  four  well-seasoned  birch  rods,  and 
they  were  not  there  for  ornamental  purposes.  They  were 
dominant  factors  in  the  discipline  of  that  school.  The  course 
of  study  was  limited,  and  the  attainments  of  the  teacher  were 
neither  varied  nor  comprehensive.  He  taught  "Readin',  'Rith- 
metic,  Spellin'  and  Writin'."  Some  sort  of  a  reader  was  his 
text-book,  Fowler's  'Rithmetic  to  the  Rule  of  Three,  Web- 
ster's Blueback  Speller  as  far  as  the  pictures,  and  a  few 
sheets  of  foolscap  paper  for  copybooks  made  up  the  course. 
This  school,  for  about  three  or  four  months  in  the  year,  was 
taught  by  this  teacher  from  the  time  the  memory  of  man  ran 
not  back  to  the  contrary ;  but  no  one  was  ever  known  to  have 
graduated  in  its  curriculum. 

I  went  to  him  two  terms  and  never  did  learn  my  A,  B,  C's. 
He  would  take  up  school  early  in  the  morning,  give  two  hours 
for  dinner  and  playtime  at  noon,  and  close  late  in  the  evening. 
The  most  interesting  period  in  the  whole  day  was  playtime. 
The  rest  of  it  was  irksome  and  monotonous. 

We  had  three  games  that  monopolized  our  time  and  atten- 
tion— Antny-over,  Cat  and  Bullpen ;  and,  in  my  judgment, 
modern  baseball  and  football  are  no  improvement  on  our  old 
games.  The  girls  jumped  the  rope,  and  the  rope  was  usually 
a  long  grapevine,  trimmed  and  dressed.  All  the  boys  and  the 
girls  were  a  robust  and  jolly  set.  They  would  yawn  and 
stretch  before  noon  and  long  for  playtime.     In  the  afternoon 


40  The  Story  of  My  Life 

they  would  do  likewise  and  look  to  the  closing  time.  If  there 
was  a  little  confusion  the  old  teacher  would  shout  in  stentorian 
voice,  "Silence!"  And  everything  was  quiet.  There  was 
scarcely  a  day  that  two  or  three  boys  did  not  feel  the  appli- 
cation of  those  birch  rods,  and  when  they  were  used  it  was 
not  for  social  purposes,  but  to  punish.  He  never  did  whip  me, 
but  he  frightened  me  out  of  my  senses  two  or  three  times. 
Just  before  dismissing  for  dinner,  and  at  the  close  in  the 
evening,  he  would  announce  in  solemn  manner,  "Prepare  for 
the  big  spelling  class."  Every  boy  and  girl  who  could  spell 
would  grasp  their  blueback  spellers  and,  at  the  top  of  their 
lusty  voices,  they  would  begin — "P-u-b-li-ca-ti'n,  Publication'', 
and  you  could  hear  them  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  After  several 
minutes  of  this  jargon  of  noise  and  confusion  he  would  shout, 
"Form  in  line !"  And  around  the  whole  room  they  would  take 
their  places.  These  two  occasions  were  the  most  interesting 
times  of  school  hours.  They  would  turn  each  other  down 
and  this  was  fun. 

There  was  one  prevailing  custom  that  always  added  spice 
to  the  school  experience,  and  that  was  when  some  fellow  not 
in  school  would  ride  by  and  shout,  "School  butter !"  This  was 
a  challenge  and  it  mattered  not  what  was  going  on  in  school 
hours,  the  whole  outfit  of  boys  would  break  from  the  school- 
room and  take  after  him,  and  sometimes  a  whole  half  a  day 
of  the  school  would  be  given  up  to  a  performance  of  that  sort. 
This  was  no  violation  of  the  rules  of  the  school,  for  it  was  a 
dare  that  no  schoolboys  would  take  from  an  outsider.  If  they 
succeeded  in  capturing  the  challenger,  the  penalty  inflicted  was 
a  repeated  ducking  in  the  river. 

9  One  day,  as  we  all  sat  lazily  in  school,  we  saw  a  long,  lank 
young  hill-billie  ride  by  to  mill.  We  expected  him  to  give  the 
challenge,  but  he  did  not  do  it.     But  we  knew  he  would  do 


An  Old-Time  Election  in  East  Tennessee,  and  Else      41 

it  on  his  return  and  just  after  he  had  passed  the  schoolhouse. 
We  saw  it  in  his  dirty  face  as  he  gazed  in  at  us.     So  at  the 
proper  time  we  prepared  for  him.    The  road  down  below  the 
house  ran  directly  along  a  stiff  stream  with  a  stake-and-ridei 
fence  on  the  other  side.    We  sent  three  or  four  boys  a  quarter 
of  mile  down  the  road  and  had  them  hide  in  the  weeds  by  the 
road.    We  kept  glancing  up  the  road  to  see  him  return.     By 
and  by  we  saw  him  on  his  old  mule  swinging  along  down  the 
hill  with  his  big  feet  nearly  touching  the  ground.     As   he 
passed  the  door  he  glanced  in  with  a  sort  of  a  significant 
look,  and  after  he  had  gotten  a  few  steps  and  thought  he 
was  safe  he  swung  his  old  straw  hat  over  his  head  and  yelled 
at  full  voice,  "School  butter!    Rotten  eggs  for  your  supper!" 
And  he  put  the  strap  to  the  mule  and  away  he  went.     The 
whole  school  dashed  out  and  took  after  him.     He  raised  a 
cloud  of  dust  in  his  rear,  but  directly  the  boys  down  the  road 
sprang  out  and  we  came  in  behind.     He  saw  he  was  gone. 
But  he  leaped  off  his  mule,  scaled  the  fence  like  a  deer  and 
started  through  the  field  toward  a  swamp ;  but  we  were  hot 
on  his  trail.    Ultimately  he  stopped  and  tried  to  bluff  us,  but 
it  was  no  use.     We  closed  in  on  him  and  threw  him  down. 
Two  or  three  gathered  hold  of  his  arms  and  as  many  of  his 
long  legs,  and  amid  hilarity  we  carried  and  dragged  him  to 
the  stream  and  waded  out  with  him.     Time  and  again  we 
soused  him  under,  and  would  let  him  up  and  banter  him,  and 
then  dip  him  again.     The  old  teacher  commanded  us  to  let 
him  go,  but  he  was  a  caution  to  behold.    That  was  fun  enough 
for  us  for  one  day,  but  it  was  hard  on  the  hill-billie.     This 
was  the  "Old  Field  School"  and  these  were  some  of  its  ex- 
periences.   No  wonder  it  served  its  day  and  passed  out.    The 
wonder  is  that  it  ever  had  a  day! 


Chapter  IV. 

The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its 
Effects  on  Me 

It  was  on  a  beautiful  morning  in  May  when  I  had  just 
returned  to  grandma's  house  from  the  river,  where  I  had  been 
fishing.  What  a  splendid  morning  it  was!  In  my  mind  and 
heart  it  will  live  with  increasing  interest  as  long  as  memor, 
survives.  Nature,  like  an  Oriental  queen  of  the  olden  times, 
was  clad  in  her  vernal  robes  of  richest  hue.  The  atmosphtte 
fresh  from  the  circumjacent  hills,  was  redolent  with  the  fra- 
grance of  foliage  and  flowers.  Feathered  songsters,  exuberant 
with  the  joy  of  early  springtime,  were  making  the  wildwood 
and  the  meadow  vocal  with  their  sweetest  melody.  A  brighter 
sun  never  rolled  up  the  eastern  sky  in  his  chariot  of  flames. 
Even  the  crystal  stream,  instinct  with  life,  offered  its  tribute 
of  joy  through  the  music  of  its  limpid  waves.  The  far-off 
mountains,  tinged  with  a  mellow  azure,  sent  forth  their  deep- 
toned  praises  from  native  harps  of  hemlock  and  pine.  All 
sights  and  sounds  and  motions  were  expressive  of  universal 
peace  and  happiness. 

It  was  then  that  a  rider  on  a  foaming  steed  came  dashing 
up  to  the  gate  and  his  face  was  pale  and  his  manner  nervous. 
Without  uttering  a  word  of  preliminary  warning  he  said: 
"George,  your  father  is  dead  and  you  must  go  home  at  once." 
Grandma  appeared  in  time  to  hear  the  announcement,  but  be- 


The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its  Effect  on  Me         43 

fore  she  could  ask  for  particulars  he  had  turned  and  ridden 
rapidly  away.  Never  did  a  blow  fall  with  duller  thud  upon 
the  heart  of  a  boy.  "Can  it  be  possible  ?"  was  the  first  question 
that  addressed  itself  to  my  mind.  Only  a  few  days  before  1 
had  left  home  and  he  was  in  his  usual  health.  But  the  an- 
nouncement could  not  well  be  doubted,  and  it  was  not  long 
until  grandma  and  myself  were  hastening  toward  the  scene  of 
affliction  and  sorrow.  All  along  the  journey  I  could  not  re- 
strain the  hope  that  on  arriving  at  home  we  would  find  the 
message  untrue.  How  could  it  be  true?  Thus  for  several 
miles  my  heart  drifted  between  hope  and  despair.  After  awhile 
we  came  in  front  of  the  house  and  groups  of  men  were  seen 
standing  in  the  yard.  This  was  confirmatory  of  the  intelli- 
gence. We  alighted  and  entered  the  home,  and  the  first  thing 
to  greet  my  eyes  was  the  outstretched  linen  underneath  which 
was  the  body  of  my  father.  Close  by  the  side  of  it  sat  mother, 
stunned  with  grief,  for  the  death  had  come  suddenly.  She  in- 
stinctively threw  her  arms  around  me  and  said :  "Poor  little 
boy,  you  have  no  father  to  love  and  care  for  you  now."  Her 
grief  was  inconsolable. 

The  night  was  a  long,  sleepless  night  and  when  the  morning 
came  it  brought  no  light  of  hope  to  that  stricken  home.  The 
sun  moved  as  usual  up  the  sky,  and  toward  the  noontide  the 
silent  procession  moved  out  toward  the  hill.  How  often  we 
had  gone  there  before  to  offer  love's  token  upon  the  pulseless 
mounds,  but  never  before  under  circumstances  of  such  grief 
and  bereavement  as  these.  The  man  of  God  offered  a  touching 
prayer  for  the  young  widow  and  her  three  orphans,  the  coffin 
was  lowered  by  strong  hands,  the  dirt  soon  filled. the  gaping 
wound  in  the  earth  and  the  cruel  grave  had  swallowed  up  our 
hope.  With  hearts  bleeding  we  lingered  a  moment  and  in 
silence  dropped  hot  tears  upon  the  new-made  tomb,  and  then 


44  The  Story  of  My  Life 

wended  our  way  back  toward  the  place  we  called  home;  but 
it  no  longer  felt  like  the  home  that  we  had  once  known.  The 
circle  was  broken  and  a  portion  of  the  light  had  gone  out 
forever.  There  was  an  aching  void  that  no  human  presence 
could  fill.  To  the  great  busy  world  these  scenes  and  experi- 
ences did  not  amount  to  much ;  but  to  us  it  was  big  with 
ominous  significance.  For  the  first  time  in  my  young  life 
the  world  looked  cold  and  cheerless  and  words  of  human  com- 
fort seemed  like  a  hollow  mockery. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  night  in  that  home  of  distress 
and  loneliness.  After  the  frugal  meal  of  the  evening,  of  which 
we  had  partaken  but  little,  we  gathered  in  the  front  room.  It 
was  a  silent  place,  except  for  the  broken  sobs  of  mother  and 
the  sighs  of  my  own  breaking  heart.  She  lighted  the  old 
tallow  candle  and  sat  it  upon  the  table  and  took  down  her  old 
calfskin-covered  Bible.  She  turned  to  the  twenty-third  Psalm 
and  read  through  tearful  eyes  and  faltering  voice :  "The  Lord 
is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want;"  and  on  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter.  And  then  she  opened  the  book  in  the  New  Testament 
and  read:  "Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  Ye  believe  in 
God,  believe  also  in  me.  In  my  father's  house  are  many 
mansions ;  if  it  were  not  so  I  would  have  told  you.  I  go  to 
prepare  a  place  for  you;  and  if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place  for 
you,  I  will  come  again  and  receive  you  unto  myself,  that  where 
I  am  there  ye  may  be  also."  We  then  knelt  down  in  oui 
family  devotion,  and  she  poured  out  her  heart  into  the  ear 
of  him  who  had  said :  "I  will  be  the  husband  to  the  widow 
and  the  father  to  the  orphan."    And  we  found  comfort. 

In  a  few  days  the  old  administrator  came  around  and  settled 
up  the  affairs  of  the  little  estate.  When  the  debts  were  paid 
there  was  but  little  left  for  the  support  of  that  once  happy 
family.    There  was  no  homestead  law  in  those  days,  and  it  was 


The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its  Effect  on  Me  45 

not  long  until  what  my  father  had  accumulated  was  disposed 
of  to  pay  security  debts,  and  we  were  without  even  a  home. 
But  my  mother's  faith  failed  not.  It  had  already  been  tried 
in  the  furnace  and,  though  shaken,  it  still  survived.  She  firmly 
believed  that  the  God  of  all  the  earth  would  do  right.  So  she 
turned  her  face  toward  the  future  and  bared  her  bosom  to 
the  storms  as  she  addressed  herself  to  the  stern  duties  of  life. 

What  was  she  to  do?  Grandma  told  her  she  must  come 
home,  but  my  uncle  and  family  were  living  with  her  and 
and  mother  did  not  care  to  take  my  brother  and  myself  there, 
as  it  would  place  two  families  of  children  under  the  same  roof, 
and  that  would  not  be  for  the  best.  So  she  resolved  to  accept 
the  invitation  for  herself  and  my  little  sister — to  send  me  and 
my  brother  to  my  Grandfather  Rankin.  I  was  nearly  twelve 
years  old  and  my  brother  five  years  younger.  The  old  gentle- 
man said  he  would  be  glad  to  have  us,  and  that  was  the  dis- 
position made  of  us. 

I  was  no  stranger  in  that  home,  as  I  had  been  there  a  num- 
ber of  times,  but  not  as  an  orphan  boy ;  and  that  made  all  the 
difference.  Grandfather  was  far  advanced  in  life  and  he  was 
living  with  his  second  wife.  They  had  four  grown  daughters. 
My  father  had  been  forced  away  from  that  home  when  he  was 
in  his  'teens  by  his  disagreeable  stepmother.  She  was  a  very 
peculiar  old  lady  even  when  I  knew  her.  The  only  serious 
mistake  that  my  grandfather  was  ever  known  to  have  made 
was  when  he  married  her.  She  was  not  in  his  class.  She 
was  a  Dutch  woman  and  not  one  of  the  best  types  of  her 
hardy  race.  She  was  not  religious,  had  no  taste  for  books, 
spoke  broken  English,  and  she  was  brusque  and  petulant.  But 
she  was  the  most  industrious  woman  I  have  ever  known.  She 
was  a  slave  to  work.  It  was  against  her  nature  to  see  any- 
body idle  about  her  and  she  could  find  more  for  a  boy  to  do 


46  The  Story  of  My  Life 

than  any  human  being  of  my  knowledge.  She  was  a  model 
housekeeper  and  kept  everything  about  her  as  clean  and  shiny 
as  a  new  pin.  And  she  had  brought  up  those  four  daughters 
in  her  footsteps.  Two  of  them  were  just  like  her  for  the 
world  in  their  dispositions  and  appearance.  The  other  two 
were  like  grandfather.  I  soon  learned  to  love  them,  but  not 
the  other  two  and  the  old  lady.  They  were  very  repugnant 
to  me  and  I  was  to  them.  The  dislike  was  cordial  and  mutual. 
Think  of  a  boy,  brought  up  in  my  mother's  and  her  mother's 
home,  having  to  come  under  the  government  of  this  new 
regime.  It  was  something  terrible.  They  soon  began  to  pick 
at  me,  to  tell  me  I  had  not  been  half  raised,  that  I  was  lazy 
and  trifling.  My  hat  was  never  in  the  right  place,  my  shoes 
were  never  cleaned,  my  hair  was  out  of  order,  and  my  manners 
sloven.  They  were  constantly  finding  fault  with  me.  It  mat- 
tered not  how  many  cows  I  had  to  drive  up  and  look  after, 
how  many  hogs  to  feed,  how  much  wood  to  chop  during  the 
morning  and  evening,  nor  how  hard  I  had  to  work  all  day  in 
the  field,  they  expected  me  to  look  like  I  had  come  out  of  a 
bandbox  all  the  time.  They  taxed  their  ingenuity  to  find  some- 
thing to  keep  me  employed  and  then  fussed  at  me  for  the  way 
it  was  done.  I  heard  my  own  name  called  so  much  in  that  old 
Dutch  twang  until  I  learned  to  hate  it.  It  was  nothing  but 
"Shorch,  Shorch!"  every  time  I  appeared  about  the  house. 
They  made  no  effort  to  cultivate  the  better  side  of  my  nature. 
They  treated  me  more  like  a  servant.  At  night  when  I  was 
tired  and  sleepy  in  the  winter  time  they  had  me  to  sit  up  until 
nine  o'clock  and  tack  carpet  rags.  They  made  life  miserable 
for  me  on  all  parts  of  the  ground. 

■  Grandfather  was  kind  to  me  and  considerate  of  me,  yet  he 
was  strict  with  me.  I  worked  along  with  him  in  the  field 
when  the  weather  was  agreeable  and  when  it  was  inclement  I 


The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its  Effect  on  Me  47 

helped  him  in  his  hatter's  shop,  for  the  Civil  War  was  in 
progress  and  he  had  returned  at  odd  times  to  hatmaking.     It 
was  my  business  in  the  shop  to  stretch  foxskins  and  coon- 
skins  across  a  wood-horse  and  with  a  knife,  made  for  that 
purpose,  pluck  the  hair  from  the  fur.     I  despise  the  odor  of 
foxskins  and  coonskins  to  this  good  day.    He  had  me  to  walk 
two  miles  every  Sunday  to  Dandridge  to  Church  service  and 
Sunday-school,  rain  or  shine,  wet  or  dry,  cold  or  hot;  yet  he 
had   fat  horses   standing  in   his   stable.     But  he   was   such  a 
blue-stocking  Presbyterian  that  he  never  allowed  a  bridle  to 
go  on  a  horse's  head  on  Sunday.     The  beasts  had  to  have  a 
day  of  rest.     Old  Doctor  Minnis  was  the  pastor,  and  he  was 
the  dryest  and  most  interminable  preacher  I  ever  heard  in  my 
life.     He  would  stand  motionless  and  read  his  sermons  from 
manuscript  for  one  hour  and  a  half  at  a  time  and  sometimes 
longer.     Grandfather  would  sit  and  never  take  his  eyes  off  of 
him,  except  to  glance  at  me  to  keep  me  quiet.     It  was  torture 
to  me.     When  we  would  return  home  he  would  put  all  the 
books  like  the  life  of  Daniel  Boone,  General  Francis  Marian 
and  Davy  Crockett  high  up  on  the  top  shelf,  and  put  me  down 
at  a  table  with  the  New  Testament  and  the  Shorter  Catechism. 
When  through  with  them  I  could  walk  around  some,  but  was 
never  allowed  to  whistle,  to  knock  on  the  fence  or  to  throw  a 
stone  at  a  bird.     It  was  the  Sabbath  and  I  was  expected  to 
keep  it  holy.     Yet  old  grandma  paid  no  attention  to  the  Sab- 
bath and  went  about  her  business  a  good  deal  like  any  other 
day.     Her  daughters,  however,  had  to  observe  the  day,  for 
grandfather  was  a  strict  disciplinarian.     Everything  about  the 
place  observed  his  Sunday  regulations  except  grandma.     She 
was  a  privileged  character.    All  this,  I  presume,  did  me  some 
good  in  my  life  and  character,  but  it  was  taught  me  in  the 
severest  way  I  had  ever  known.     It  was  an  irksome  sort  of 


48  The  Story  of  My  Life 

religion  and  I  used  to  wonder  how  grandfather  enjoyed  it, 
but  he  seemed  to  get  genuine  pleasure  out  of  it.  It  was  that 
sort  of  tuition  that  he  had  given  to  my  father  in  his  boyhood, 
and  he  thought  it  good  and  wholesome  for  me.  But  on  week- 
days he  granted  me  a  great  deal  more  liberty.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  female  members  of  the  home  I  would  have  gotten 
along  very  well,  except  on  Sunday.  Grandfather  made  it  hard 
for  me  on  the  Sabbath  and  they  made  it  even  harder  for  me 
during  the  week.  So  life  had  but  little  for  me  worth  living 
for  during  the  year  and  a  half  I  spent  in  that  household  and  on 
its  premises. 

As  the  months  went  by  I  became  rebellious.  Such  discipline 
began  to  sour  my  disposition  and  to  make  me  resentful.  I  re- 
solved to  get  from  under  it.  So  one  Sunday,  coming  from 
Church  service,  myself  and  brother  planned  to  make  our  escape. 
That  night  we  went  to  our  room  earlier  than  usual,  packed  up 
all  our  belongings,  and  after  everybody  was  asleep  I  slipped 
out  with  the  bundle,  went  up  the  road  a  short  piece  and  hid  it 
behind  a  tree.  We  would  have  left  that  night,  but  we  were 
afraid  to  travel  that  far  after  dark.  The  next  morning  we 
were  out  at  the  woodpile  chopping  wood  when  the  bell  rang 
for  breakfast.  We  pretended  to  be  very  busy  finishing  up  a 
job,  and  when  they  had  all  gotten  in  the  dining-room  we  made 
a  break  for  dear  life  up  the  road;  but  old  grandma  happened 
to  look  out  and  see  us  and  she  knew  at  a  glance  what  we  were 
doing.  She  ran  to  the  door  and  screamed  at  us,  but  we  made 
tracks  that  much  faster.  She  saw  we  were  gone,  and  the  last 
we  heard  from  her  was :  "Never  you  show  dem  faces  here 
no  more."  But  it  was  a  needless  injunction.  More  than  forty- 
five  years  have  passed  by  since  then,  but  I  have  never  seen 
that  place  again,  neither  did  I  ever  lay  eyes  upon  the  face  or 
the  back  of  my  old  Dutch  step-grandmother.    It  was  an  even 


The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its  Effect  of  Me         49 

lasting  adieu.  I  was  entirely  satisfied  with  my  experience  and 
never  had  the  slightest  desire  to  repeat  any  part  of  it. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  we  got  home,  for  it  was 
several  miles  and  the  weather  was  warm.  Now,  just  what  to 
tell  mother  required  some  study  and  preparation.  But  by  the 
time  I  reached  home  I  had  my  story  complete,  and  it  was  the 
whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  When  we  entered  the 
house  I  rushed  into  her  arms  and  poured  out  my  tale  of  sorrow 
to  her  and  to  grandma.  They  listened  with  sympathy,  and 
grandma  said  that  we  had  done  exactly  right;  that  she  never 
had  thought  it  best  to  send  us  down  there.  It  was  not  long 
until  we  were  seated  at  the  table  enjoying  a  good  meal.  It  was 
like  heaven  to  us.  We  had  gotten  back  where  somebody  loved 
us  and  spoke  kindly  to  us. 

But  my  troubles  were  not  over.  My  uncle  did  not  want  me 
to  live  at  grandma's  because  his  wife  objected  to  so  many 
children,  as  she  put  it,  in  one  house.  The  fact  is,  she  did  not 
like  me  because  she  could  not  boss  me.  It  was  mostly  her 
fault,  but  partly  mine,  I  presume.  I  never  did  like  to  be  bossed 
by  outside  people.  I  resented  it  in  my  boyhood  and  I  resent 
it  to  this  good  day.  It  was  born  in  my  blood  and  I  am  not 
responsible  for  it.  So  she  and  myself  had  an  open  collision, 
and  my  uncle  told  me  I  must  not  live  there  any  longer.  My 
love  for  him  was  none  too  great.  I  never  had  forgiven  him 
for  selling  Jack  to  Andy  Ramsey.  He  was  a  cross-grained 
and  narrow-minded  man,  with  a  very  disagreeable  disposition. 
Grandma  intervened,  but  it  was  no  use,  for  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  that  I  would  not  live  in  a  home  under  such  circum- 
stances. I  was  then  fourteen  years  old  and  had  some  inde- 
pendence of  my  own.  So  I  determined  to  leave  without  a 
contest. 

The  snows  of  an  East  Tennessee  winter  were  lying  deep 


The  Story  of  My  Life 


The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its  Effect  on  Me  51 

upon  the  ground  and  the  ice  was  frozen  thick  over  the  streams. 
The  branches  of  the  forest  were  bending  under  their  load  and 
a  fierce  December  wind  was  sweeping  over  the  hills.  The 
heavens  were  overcast  with  shifting  clouds  and  the  merry 
twitter  of  the  birds  was  hushed  into  silence.  A  day  more  for- 
bidding and  unpropitious  never  flung  the  mantle  of  its  subdued 
light  over  the  mountains  and  the  valleys ;  but  the  day  was  no 
more  perturbed  than  my  own  feelings  and  thoughts,  as 
step  by  step  I  silently  moved  down  the  hill  and  out  of  sight 
of  my  grandma's  home.  My  eyes  were  blinded  with  cold  tears 
and  occasionally  a  sob  forced  its  way  through  my  lips  as  I 
trudged  along.  By  and  by  I  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  large, 
comfortable  farmhouse  and  was  invited  by  a  kind  voice  to 
come  in.  They  knew  me  and  they  knew  my  father  in  his  life- 
time; they  had  some  knowledge  of  the  things  in  the  home  I 
had  just  left,  and  they  were  in  sympathy  with  me.  He  was  a 
relative  of  grandma's,  owned  a  large  farm  lying  along  both 
banks  of  the  river,  and  also  a  good  gristmill  and  sawmill.  I 
was  not  strong  enough  to  do  a  man's  work,  but  I  had  a  man's 
willingness,  and  my  old  kinsman  told  me  that  if  I  would  be  a 
good  boy  and  learn  to  work  that  I  should  not  be  without  a 
home  and  something  to  eat  and  to  wear.  For  several  months 
I  remained  with  this  kind  old  man  working  for  my  board  and 
clothes.  It  was  small  pay,  but  the  experience  was  worth  much 
to  me.  I  added  to  my  stock  of  industrious  habits  and  learned 
more  about  farm  life. 

About  this  time  my  aged  grandma  died  and  this  brought  to 
me  another  real  sorrow,  for  she  was  one  of  the  best  and  truest 
friends  I  ever  had.  It  did  more — it  made  it  necessary  for  my 
mother  to  hunt  another  home.  So  she  and  myself  applied  to  a 
gentleman  of  large  means  and  broad  acres  for  a  small  house 
in  which  to  live  and  a  few  acres  to  cultivate.    He  had  been  a 


52  The  Story  of  My  Life 

lifelong  friend  of  my  father  and  offered  us  every  assistance. 
In  fact,  he  said  we  could  have  the  house  for  nothing  and  ten 
acres  of  rich  land  to  work;  that  he  would  furnish  the  horse, 
the  feed  and  the  implements  and  give  us  half  we  could  make. 
It  was  a  comfortable  one-story  house  with  two  rooms.  We 
moved  into  it,  happy  to  be  once  more  united.  My  mother  was 
skilled  with  her  needle  and  she  was  handy  at  all  sorts  of 
domestic  work.  I  soon  found  a  good  man  on  the  same  farm 
who  went  in  with  me  and  we  worked  our  crops  together.  We 
had  a  good  cow  and  moderate  supplies  for  the  season,  and  we 
were  again  happy  under  our  own  roof.  It  was  an  humble 
roof,  but  it  was  home,  and  mother  was  there  to  preside  over  it. 
It  was  a  little  heaven  on  earth.  Twenty  years  afterward  I 
visited  that  community,  went  into  that  old  house,  bared  my 
head  and  felt  that  it  was  a  sacred  place. 

We  made  a  fine  crop  of  corn  and  my  part  of  it  was  abun- 
dant to  run  us  through  the  year,  and  we  had  some  for  sale. 
For  once  again  I  felt  independent.  The  next  season  I  made 
preparation  on  a  larger  scale,  rented  from  our  old  friend  a 
more  extensive  piece  of  good  bottom  land  and  determined  to 
be  my  own  boss  and  work  my  crop  by  myself.  We  had  a  milch 
cow,  mother  added  to  our  needed  comfort  by  the  use  of  hei 
needle,  and  we  were  moderately  well  equipped  to  become  self- 
sustaining.  My  benefactor,  who  owned  the  large  farm,  gave 
me  every  encouragement,.  He  told  me  to  pick  out  my  own 
mule,  that  he  would  furnish  the  feed  as  before,  supply  the 
seed  and  the  utensils  and  in  every  way  stand  by  me.  Yes,  he 
went  so  far  as  to  take  me  into  his  confidence  and  to  tell  me 
what  he  thought  of  me.  He  said  that  I  was  the  best  boy  and 
had  the  best  habits  of  industry  of  any  boy  he  had  ever  had 
about  him,  and  that  he  had  every  confidence  in  my  honesty 
and  truthfulness,  and  that  he  could  trust  me  implicitly.     He 


The  Death  of  My  Father  and  Its  Effect  on  Me  53 

even  said  that  if  I  continued  in  the  future  as  in  the  past  that 
he  would  aid  me  in  any  way,  for  he  added:  "I  believe  you 
have  the  making  of  a  man  in  you."  My,  but  that  made  me 
stand  several  inches  taller! 

I  went  home  that  night  and  told  mother  all  about  my  ar- 
rangements for  the  year  and  what  our  friend  had  said  to  me. 
A  smile  of  satisfaction  came  over  her  face  and  there  was  some- 
thing of  her  old-time  look  of  happiness  in  her  expression. 
She  seemed  to  take  on  hope  and  told  me  that  she  was  very 
proud  of  me  and  that  she  was  so  glad  to  have  a  boy  so  well 
thought  of  and  upon  whom  she  could  depend.  Could  anything 
under  the  sun  have  caused  me  to  disappoint  such  a  mother? 
Nay,  verily !  Under  her  care  and  godly  tuition  I  had  no  very 
bad  habits.  I  had  been  thrown  with  most  every  sort  of  asso- 
ciation common  to  that  community  during  the  two  previous 
years,  and  temptations  had  been  strong  and  alluring ;  but  the 
influence  of  that  mother  had  been  stronger  and  far  more  potent 
with  me  than  all  other  influences  combined.  The  very  fact 
that  she  trusted  me  to  the  limit,  and  told  me  so,  was  a  stimulus 
to  live  right  and  maintain  my  integrity  that  no  temptation 
could  overcome.  She  loved  me  and  had  confidence  in  me,  and 
in  turn  I  was  her  comfort  and  her  hope;  and  I  was  ready  to 
die  for  her. 

All  this  stirred  my  better  nature  and  made  me  resolve  tc 
be  a  man  sure  enough.  If  other  people  could  trust  me  and  if 
my  mother  saw  something  in  me,  I  was  certainly  going  to  do 
my  part  to  merit  such  confidence  and  meet  their  expectations. 

So  when  the  early  spring  opened  I  began  operations  on  my 
own  account  and  went  to  work  with  a  will  to  put  my  ground  in 
good  condition  and  plant  my  new  crop.  It  was  not  many  weeks 
until  my  first  planting  was  up  and  the  second  was  in  the 
ground.    Steadily  the  work  progressed,  the  seasons  were  good 


54  The  Story  of  My  Life 

and  the  outlook  fine.  By  the  middle  of  June  my  growing  corn 
looked  like  a  canebrake  as  it  waved  gracefully  under  the  breeze. 
I  sat  one  morning  on  the  fence  and  looked  out  over  it.  I  knew 
nearly  every  hill  of  it  by  name.  I  had  lived  in  it  by  day  and 
had  thought  of  it  by  night.  It  was  my  crop !  My  honest  toil 
had  made  it  and  my  heart  swelled  with  gratitude  as  I  gazed 
over  the  flattering  prospect.  My  nature  was  stirred  to  its  best 
thought,  its  best  purpose,  its  noblest  resolve.  After  all,  there 
was  something  in  store  for  me  and  I  took  courage  and  felt 
the  impulses  of  a  strange  inspiration.  I  began  to  actually 
think,  and  my  thought  formed  itself  into  purpose,  and  I  began 
to  have  dreams  and  visions.  But  in  the  midst  of  my  reverie 
I  came  to  myself  and  realized  that  after  all  I  was  only  a  poor 
boy,  without  fortune  and  but  few  friends,  and  that  at  best  my 
prospect  was  only  that  of  a  plodding  toiler  and  that  it  was 
cruel  to  allow  baseless  aspirations  to  kindle  hopes  that  would 
be  destined  to  die  in  their  borning.  What  could  I  do  except 
to  plow  corn,  hew  wood  and  draw  water,  and  be  the  tenant  of 
more  fortunate  people?  Of  course  I  did  not  think  in  the  terms 
in  which  I  am  writing;  but  in  my  crude  way  and  in  my 
awkward  fancy  I  started  a  few  aircastles  and  then  exploded 
them.  But  there  was  something  latent  in  my  conscious  nature 
that  was  making  effort  to  assert  its  purpose.  I  did  not  under- 
stand it  then,  but  as  the  years  passed  by  it  finally  became  ap- 
parent to  me.  God  was  touching  the  mysterious  depths  of  my 
sleeping  consciousness  and  I  knew  it  not! 


Chapter  V 

Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the 
Hill  Country 

As  I  am  not  confining  myself  to  strict  chronology  in  these 
chapters,  I  will  drop  back  a  year  or  two  and  make  mention 
of  a  few  war  incidents  in  East  Tennessee.  This  section  was 
the  scene  of  many  episodes  back  in  the  early  sixties.  Some 
of  them  were  tragic  and  others  of  them  ludicrous  and  amusing. 

During  the  most  of  that  bloody  war,  East  Tennessee  was 
disputed  territory.  It  bordered  on  Kentucky  and,  when  the 
Confederates  were  not  occupying  it,  the  Federals  were  in  pos- 
session. The  people  themselves  were  very  evenly  divided,  just 
as  they  had  been  in  matters  political.  Families  were  often 
estranged  and  neighborhoods  were  rent  asunder.  Hundreds 
of  the  men  entered  the  Confederate  service,  and  when  the 
conscript  law  went  into  force  hundreds  more  of  them  crossed 
over  the  border  and  joined  the  Union  army. 

A  good  many  in  the  hill  country  did  not  enter  either  army, 
but  took  to  the  woods ;  and  while  their  sympathies  were  with 
the  old  flag,  they  became,  for  the  most  part,  outlaws.  They 
committed  many  depredations,  especially  upon  the  homes  of 
#those  in  the  Southern  army.  And  they  often  precipitated 
trouble  with  Confederate  scouts,  particularly  those  headed  by 
conscript  officers. 

It  was  almost  worth  a  Southern  man's  life,  whether  a  sol- 


56  The  Story- of  My  Life 

dier  or  a  citizen,  to  venture  near  their  habitations.  They  be- 
longed to  the  wild  and  reckless  class  at  best,  and  as  the  war 
gradually  lifted  all  restraints  of  civil  government  they  were 
a  desperate  set  of  men  and  made  themselves  a  holy  terror. 
They  were  deeply  incensed  at  the  conscript  officers  and  let  no 
opportunity  escape  to  give  them  serious  trouble.  They  had 
frequent  collisions  with  them  and  bloody  tragedy  often  fol- 
lowed. Now  and  then  some  of  those  in  the  Union  army  would 
venture  back  and  give  encouragement  to  this  class  of  men. 
It  was  a  terrible  state  of  things. 

I  remember  one  conscript  officer  who  made  himself  very 
offensive  to  these  hill  people.  He  did  his  utmost  to  capture 
them  and  force  them  into  the  Confederate  service.  His  name 
was  Captain  James  Hurley.  He  lived  in  East  Tennessee  and 
knew  them,  and  they  knew  him.  He  was  also  acquainted  with 
every  nook  and  corner  of  that  region.  He  had  a  grown  son 
who  was  one  of  the  Confederate  scouts,  and  sometimes,  when 
at  home,  he  would  accompany  his  father  in  his  incursions  into 
the  hill  country  after  those  men. 

Captain  Hurley,  with  his  son  and  others,  one  day  made  a 
raid  in  that  section  to  round  up  some  of  them,  and  he  took 
every  precaution  against  danger.  He  even  had  his  little  five- 
year-old  boy  behind  him  as  a  protection,  thinking  that  no  sort 
of  a  foe  would  want  to  injure  a  child.  But  he  reckoned  with- 
out his  host.  He  was  returning  from  his  search  in  the  late 
afternoon,  and  passed  out  of  the  hills  into  the  main  road  above 
where  we  lived.  Just  after  he  entered  it  he  had  to  cross  a 
small  creek  far  above  which  was  an  overhanging  cliff — a  for- 
bidding-looking place.  Thinking  that  he  had  passed  the  dan- 
ger line,  he  stopped  carelessly  to  let  his  horse  drink,  and  the 
crack  of  several  rifles  rang  out  on  the  evening  air.  One  of 
the  bullets  pierced  Captain  Hurley's  heart,  went  through  his 


Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the  Hill  Country  57 

body  and  into  the  brain  of  his  little  boy.  They  never  knew 
what  hurt  them. 

This  produced  a  profound  sensation.  As  they  fled  from 
their  hiding-places,  followed  by  shots  from  the  guns  of  the 
guards,  several  of  them  were  recognized  by  young  Hurley. 
He  swore  vengeance  against  them  and  their  compatriots.  He 
was  a  daring  character,  and  from  that  time  on  there  were 
hot  times  in  the  hill  country  of  East  Tennessee.  Even  when 
the  Federal  army  occupied  the  lower  country  young  Hurley 
would  dash  into  those  hills  unexpectedly  and  commit  deeds 
of  crimson  daring. 

On  one  occasion,  when  it  was  thought  that  the  Confederates 
were  clear  out  of  the  country,  he  appeared  in  that  wild  section 
bent  on  trouble  for  those  daredevil  men.  He  knew  where  they 
lived  and  he  was  acquainted  with  their  haunts.  But  as  he  was 
coming  out  of  one  of  those  gorges  he  passed  a  cabin  and, 
unexpectedly,  one  of  them  fired  at  the  squad  and  rushed  from 
the  house  to  the  crest  of  the  hill  with  bullets  making  music 
in  his  ears.  The  hilltop  was  soon  surrounded  with  a  soldier 
about  every  fifty  yards  apart. 

Young  Hurley,  as  we  afterwards  learned,  was  riding  slowly 
near  the  timber,  standing  in  his  stirrups,  looking  cautiously 
into  the  underbrush  for  the  escaped  man.  He  passed  near 
an  oak  tree  and  heard  something  scrape  the  sides  of  it,  and  as 
he  threw  his  eye  upon  it  toward  the  tree  he  was  just  in 
time  to  see  a  huge  Enfield  rifle  coming  down  upon  him  with 
its  gaping  muzzle.  He  threw  himself  from  his  horse  to  the 
ground  just  as  the  ball  tore  the  seat  of  his  saddle  away.  The 
man,  thinking  he  had  killed  him,  broke  over  him  toward  a 
safer  retreat  before  the  others  could  have  time  to  overtake 
him.  But  young  Hurley  was  up  and  after  him  on  foot  like 
a  wolf  after  a  deer.     At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  disabled  him 


58  The  Story  of  My  Life 

with  a  shot  from  his  pistol  and  then  ran  up  to  him  and  saw 
one  of  the  very  gang  that  had  assassinated  his  father  a  few 
months  before.  Though  the  poor  fellow  begged  piteously 
for  his  life,  the  infuriated  pursurer  emptied  the  remaining 
barrels  of  his  pistol  into  his  quivering  flesh.  I  learned  these 
facts  some  years  later  in  another  State  from  one  of  the  scouts 
that  participated  in  the  raid. 

The  father  of  this  young  man  lived  about  two  miles  from 
my  grandma's  and  he,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us,  had  heard  the 
shooting  and  knew  that  something  had  happened.  He  was  an 
old  man  and  believed  that  his  son  was  killed.  We  went  along 
with  him  and  searched  into  the  night,  but  failed  to  make  any 
discovery.  The  next  morning  we  renewed  the  effort  and  up 
in  the  day  found  the  body,  but  the  wild  hogs  had  partially 
destroyed  it. 

Some  time  after  that  when  Longstreet's  army  drove  Burn- 
side  and  his  hosts  back  toward  Knoxville  many  of  those  men 
were  left  in  those  hills.  They  lived  there  and  took  chances  on 
escaping  by  hiding  in  the  caves  and  rugged  places  of  the 
country.  Young  Hurley  found  out  where  he  thought  a  crowd 
of  them  were  being  harbored  by  friends.  He  adopted  a  ruse 
to  capture  and  kill  them.  He  dressed  up  one  of  his  comrades 
in  a  worn  Federal  uniform  and  sent  him  in  there  to  play  the 
part  of  an  escaped  Federal  prisoner,  which  he  did  successfully. 
He  approached  a  cabin  in  the  locality  of  their  hiding  and  com- 
pletely threw  the  woman  off  her  guard.  He  told  his  tale  and 
begged  that  some  one  who  knew  the  country  should  pilot  him 
across  the  line  into  the  Yankee  camp.  She  at  once  left  him 
and  disappeared  in  the  woods.  Directly  she  returned  with 
two  of  the  men  heavily  armed.  At  first  they  suspected  him, 
but  he  convinced  them  that  he  was  a  Federal  and  that  he  had 
suffered  badly  at  the  hands  of  the  Confederates  and  that  he 


Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the  Hill  Country  59 

had  escaped  and  was  anxious  to  rejoin  his  command.  So  they 
accepted  his  story  and  took  him  to  their  ambuscade,  opened  a 
trap  door  on  the  side  of  the  hill  and  he  entered  a  veritable 
den  of  them.  There  were  a  dozen  or  more  and  they  were  the 
denizens  of  the  mountains,  and  some  of  them  were  the  very 
men  the  scouts  had  been  trying  to  locate  for  months.  They 
were  armed  to  the  teeth.  After  nightfall  two  of  them  took 
him  along  a  by-path  and  put  him  over  the  river  in  a  canoe,  and 
then  out  of  danger,  and  left  him.  It  was  not  long  until  he 
dropped  down  the  river  at  another  landing,  crossed  and  made 
haste  to  report  at  his  camp.  By  daylight  the  scout  was  ready 
for  business. 

Led  by  the  "escaped  Federal  soldier",  they  were  not  long  in 
finding  the  locality.  They  surrounded  it,  and  the  man  whe 
knew  the  exact  spot  approached  it  and  told  them  to  come  out, 
and  that  their  old  enemy  was  there  in  force.  There  was 
nothing  left  for  them  to  do  but  to  obey.  There  were  ten  or 
twelve  of  them.  They  were  tied  with  their  hands  behind 
them  and  made  to  stand  with  their  backs  to  the  scouts,  and 
as  the  word  "fire"  was  pronounced  all  those  poor  fellows 
leaped  forward  pierced  with  bullets  except  one,  who  dashed 
down  the  hill  into  the  gorge  and  made  his  escape.  After  it 
was  over  it  looked  like  a  slaughter  pen. 

These  facts  were  also  given  to  me  in  detail  many  years 
after  the  war,  in  Georgia,  by  a  member  of  that  scout.  The 
fact  itself  I  knew  too  sadly  when  it  occurred.  Twenty-odd 
years  later,  when  on  a  visit  to  my  old  haunts,  I  visited  that 
gruesome  spot,  and  the  excavation  in  the  hillside  where  they 
were  in  hiding  was  still  recognized.  I  need  not  pursue  this 
line  of  tragedy  any  further,  but  I  could  relate  many  more 
just  as  startling. 

With  this  state  of  things  in  progress  for  two  years,  crimi- 


60  The  Story  of  My  Life 

nating  and  recriminating,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  the  condition 
of  public  sentiment  when  the  war  closed.  Scores  and  scores 
of  men  who  entered  the  service  of  the  Southern  army  were 
not  even  permitted  to  return  and  settle  up  their  business, 
much  less  to  live  there  again.  They  disappeared  from  view 
as  completely  as  though  the  earth  had  swallowed  them  up. 
I  have  met  many  of  them  scattered  about  over  Texas,  leading 
peaceable  and  successful  lives.  Some,  however,  who  served 
in  the  Confederate  army  at  points  far  removed  from  their  oid 
home-place,  thinking  that  no  harm  would  be  done  them,  did 
return;  but  more  than  a  few  of  them  were  badly  treated,  and 
in  some  instances  slain.  This  state  of  feeling  did  not  exist 
in  the  hearts  of  the  better  class  of  men  who  fought  in  the 
Union  army.  It  was  largely  confined  to  fellows  of  the  baser 
sort.  But  even  among  the  better  class  personal  prejudice 
was  deep-seated  and  lasted  several  years.  And  it  extended 
to  innocent  men. 

Some  of  our  Southern  Methodist  preachers  were  persecuted, 
though  they  took  no  part  in  the  war.  I  remember  two  of  them 
that  were  scourged  unmercifully.  One  of  them  was  Rev. 
Henry  Neal  and  the  other  Rev.  Jacob  Smith.  They  were  sent 
to  Blount  County  to  preach  and  were  there  serving  their 
charges  inoffensively.  They  were  taken  in  hand  by  a  lot  of 
ruffians,  tied  to  a  tree  and  whipped  until  physicians  had  to 
take  pieces  of  splinters  and  shreds  of  clothing  from  their 
lacerated  backs.  It  was  months  before  they  recovered  from 
the  abuse,  and  Mr.  Smith  never  did  recover.  He  lost  his 
voice  as  a  result  and  finally  went  to  a  premature  grave. 
Strange  to  say,  every  one  of  those  desperadoes,  sooner  or 
later,  came  to  a  violent  death.  It  seemed  that  the  curse  of 
God  followed  them  to  untimely  graves. 
^But  in  the  course  of  the  years,  after  civil  government  was 


Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the  Hill  Country  6l 

again  restored  and  public  sentiment  took  its  place  behind  the 
officers  of  the  law,  this  condition  of  the  public  mind  passed 
away  and  peace  and  order  took  the  place  of  disorder  and 
confusion.  Whatever  else  of  the  evil  influence  remained 
slunk  away  into  the  dark  places  and  contented  itself  with 
finding  expression  in  wildcat  distilleries;  and  Uncle  Sam  is 
still  having  trouble  in  some  sections  of  that  country  with  this 
lawless  class.  But  the  great  bulk  of  those  East  Tennesseans 
are  among  the  best  and  most  devoted  law-abiding  people  in 
this  great  country  of  ours. 

In  late  years  that  very  section  has  been  furnishing  the  lead- 
ing men  of  that  State.  Robert  L.  Taylor,  three  times  Governor 
and  then  Senior  United  States  Senator,  lived  in  the  heart 
of  East  Tennessee ;  and  so  does  the  Hon.  Ben  Hooper,  the 
present  able  Governor  of  the  Commonwealth.  And  in  prohi- 
bition sentiment  East  Tennessee  has  long  been  in  the  lead. 
The  old  regime  has  long  ago  passed  from  the  experiences  of 
that  mountain  section,  and  a  prosperous  condition  and  a  new 
order  of  things  are  making  that  section  one  of  the  most 
intelligent  and  progressive  portions  of  the  South. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  Civil  War  in  that  country  I  figured 
in  a  sensational  though  somewhat  amusing  episode.  While 
the  war  was  in  progress  that  whole  country  was  stripped  of 
everything  in  the  way  of  livestock  that  either  side  to  the  con- 
test could  lay  their  hands  upon.  Horses,  cows,  mules,  hogs; 
in  fact,  everything  that  a  soldier  could  either  ride,  hitch  to 
a  wagon  or  kill  and  eat  was  swept  away.  Some  of  the  old 
men  and  the  boys  and  negroes  would  hide  an  animal  out  now 
and  then  in  the  hills  and  thus  save  it,  but  these  were  the  rare 
exceptions.  They  took  all  that  we  had  except  two  milch  cows 
and  a  fine  mare  and  a  splendid  iron-gray  mule.  Old  John, 
one  of  the  trusted  negroes,  and  myself  had  charge  of  these 


02  The  Story  of  My  Life 

j 
animals.    We  kept  them  secreted  in  a  basin  among  surrounding 
hills.    We  would  pack  feed  to  them  by  night  and  for  months 
they  never  saw  the  bottom  lands  or  the  barn. 

The  mare  was  well  groomed  by  John.  She  was  a  coal- 
black,  sixteen  hands  high,  well-made  and  a  thing  of  beauty. 
She  had  all  the  gaits,  and  she  was  gentle  under  the  saddle 
or  in  the  plow.  The  mule  was  a  fine  type  of  his  kind.  He 
was  fat,  his  color  was  rich,  his  ears  long  and  his  body  was 
shapely.  He  was  my  especial  charge.  We  looked  to  these  to 
do  service  when  the  war  was  over  and  crop  times  returned 
again.  They  were  our  only  hope.  Hence  we  cared  for  them 
with  great  caution  and  secrecy.  Occasionally  we  would  call 
up  the  dogs  and  go  over  the  hills  apparently  on  a  hunt  so  as 
not  to  excite  the  suspicion  of  some  straggling  band  of  sol- 
diers, but  in  reality  we  were  on  our  way  to  feed,  water  and 
curry  those  animals.  We  would  mount  them  and  ride  them 
around  in  that  secluded  spot  for  exercise.  Beyond  that  they 
saw  nothing  of  the  outside  world  for  months.  Old  John  was 
the  most  suspicious  and  secretive  negro  I  ever  knew,  and  he 
was  the  most  deceitful  and  hypocritical  old  rascal  of  my  ac- 
quaintance. If  any  one  asked  him  about  livestock  he  could 
look  them  straight  in  the  face  and  tell  them  the  most  plausible 
lie  imaginable.  He  could  do  it  with  such  apparent  frankness 
♦hat  I  never  knew  a  soldier  to  doubt  his  statements. 

Well,  the  war  was  about  over  and  we  had  a  few  oats  and 
some  hay  left,  and  from  this  supply  we  were  drawing  nightly. 
John  told  my  mother  that  he  really  thought  there  was  not 
much  danger  now,  as  there  had  not  been  a  soldier  seen  passing 
through  there  for  several  days.  He  said  he  believed  that  we 
might  with  safety  the  next  morning  go  out  to  the  hills  before 
good  day,  ride  the  mare  and  the  mule  into  the  barn  and  carry 
back  some  feed  for  them  instead  of  packing  it  on  our  backs, 


Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the  Hill  Country  63 

and  she  gave  her  consent.  So  by  four  o'clock  the  next  morn- 
ing, just  as  the  day  was  peeping  over  the  horizon,  we  were 
on  the  backs  of  those  animals  riding  them  down  the  hill  into 
the  barn  lot. 

Where  we  were  then  living  was  a  romantic  spot  and  full  of 
natural  beauty.  The  river  made  a  bend  above  where  we  lived 
and  circled  around  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  fertile  pieces 
of  bottom  land  upon  which  the  eye  ever  rested.  From  the 
barn  to  where  the  bend  was  made  and  where  there  was  a  ford 
it  was  just  one  mile  on  a  dead  level.  Our  house  was  at  the 
foot  of  the  hills  and  rather  in  the  base  of  a  natural  circle 
formed  by  the  hills.  The  road  came  up  in  front  of  the  house 
and  passed  around  in  the  shape  of  a  horseshoe,  and  the  barn 
was  three  hundred  yards  below  and,  so  to  speak,  between  the 
corks  of  the  shoe.  On  either  side  the  barn  was  closer  to  the 
road  than  it  was  to  the  house,  but  the  gate  opened  in  front  of 
the  house  leading  down  to  the  barn.  Between  the  road  on 
either  side  there  was  a  heavy  rail  fence  and  a  deep  ditch  or  two. 

It  was  just  good  daylight,  but  the  sun  was  not  quite  up,  and 
John  and  myself  were  about  ready  to  mount  our  steeds  with 
a  big  bundle  of  oats  thrown  across  their  withers,  ready  to 
return  to  the  hills  beyond  the  house.  John  happened  to  look 
across  the  patch  lying  between  the  road  and  the  barn  and  his 
eyes  almost  dropped  down  on  his  big  cheek  bones.  I  had  not 
noticed  anything,  and  he  exclaimed  in  a  suppressed  under- 
tone :  "Lo'dy  a-massy,  Goge,  look  yander !"  I  glanced  across 
the  patch  to  the  road  and  there  sat  ten  or  a  dozen  Yankee 
soldiers  upon  their  horses,  in  bright  uniforms,  quietly  looking 
at  us.  Doubtless  they  had  been  there  several  minutes,  but 
they  were  waiting  for  us  to  start  back  toward  the  house  so 
as  to  give  chase  after  we  reached  the  road  and  before  we 
could  get  into  the  hills.    They  knew  that  if  we  ran  toward  the 


64  The  Story  of.  My  Life 

river  that  they  would  have  to  gallop  up  the  road  to  the  house 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  get  through  the  gate  and  take 
after  us  and  that  would  give  us  nearly  half  a  mile  the  start. 

Old  John  said  quietly:     "Gim-me  yo  foot."    He  grabbed  it 
and  gave  me  a  spring  and  I  was  on  the  mule's  back  in  a  jiffy, 
and  he  leaped  to  the  back  of  the  mare  and  then  shouted  to  me : 
"Put  de  strap  under  dat  mule's  belly  and  f oiler  me !"     And 
he  turned  toward  the  river  and  touched  the  mare  under  the 
flank  with  his  plow-line.     That  was  enough.     The  oats  were 
scattered  in  every  direction  and  that  mare  started  like  a  streak 
of  lightning  down  the  road  toward  the  river.     The  old  mule 
followed  suit.     It  was  a  race  for  life.    The  Yankees  shouted 
at  us  to  halt.    And  they  fired  several  rounds  above  our  heads. 
The  bullets  whistled  a  peculiar  tune,  but  they  only  accelerated 
the  velocity  of  the  mare  and  the  mule.       It  was  but  a  few 
moments  until  she  was  far  down  the  road  ahead  of  me  and 
she  was  literally  burning  the  wind.    It  was  the  first  good  run 
she  had  for  months  and  the  air  of  that  fresh  April  morning 
inspired  her  with  additional  life.     The  old  mule  was  doing 
his  best,  but  compared  with  the  mare  he  was  making  slow 
speed.     I  glanced  back  to  see  what  was  taking  place  in  the 
rear,  and  by  that  time  the  Yankees  had  gotten  through  the 
gate  and  they  were  coming  like  a  thunder  storm  down  the 
level  road,  but  I  had  a  good  lead  and  with  my  strap  I  was 
giving  the  old  mule  additional   reasons   why  he  should  ac- 
celerate his  operations,  and  he  seemed  to  realize  that  it  was 
an  urgent  case.     He  shook  his  monstrous  head  and  groaned 
like  an  elephant  in  distress,  and  he  seemed  to  measure  off  ten 
or  fifteen  feet  at  a  leap.    Two  or  three  carbines  cracked  behind 
me  and  the  peculiar  sing  of  the  balls  made  the  air  responsive. 
They  were  gaining  on  me,  but  I  was  gaining  on  the  river,  too. 
I  was  being  jolted  to  and  fr©  like  a  gray  squirrel  in  tb< 


Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the  Hill  Country  65 

storm-tossed  branches  of  a  tree,  but  I  was  swinging  on  his 
shaggy  mane  for  dear  life  with  one  hand  and  using  the  strap 
vigorously  with  the  other.  By  this  time  John  had  turned 
down  the  bank  of  the  river  and  disappeared.  I  knew  that  he 
was  safe,  but  my  condition  was  perilous.  The  Yankees  were 
coming  and  I  had  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  go  to  reach  the  stream. 
The  old  mule  was  panting  like  a  steam  engine,  but  he  was  not 
only  holding  his  own  but  he  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  Finally  I 
reached  the  bank  of  the  river.  He  was  going  at  such  strides 
that  I  could  not  turn  him  down  the  stream  to  enter  the  ford 
thirty  yards  below,  and  he  plunged  several  feet  down  the 
bank  right  into  the  river.  He  threw  the  water  all  over  me  and 
liked  to  have  emptied  me  into  the  stream.  He  recovered  him- 
self, shook  the  water  from  his  long  ears  and  he  was  soon  in 
shallow  depths  sufficient  to  again  take  up  something  like  his 
former  speed.  John  was  already  out  on  the  other  side  and 
had  disappeared  in  the  forest.  When  I  reached  midstream 
one  by  one  the  Yankees  came  to  the  bank  over  which  I  had 
just  plunged.  But  they  stopped.  They  knew  they  could  never 
overtake  me  in  the  river,  and  then  on  the  other  side  might 
not  be  safe.  So  they  fired  several  shots  over  my  head  and 
yelled  at  me  like  wild  Indians.  As  I  pulled  out  on  the  opposite 
side  they  gave  me  a  hearty  cheer  and  made  the  river  banks 
resound  with  their  laughter.  Even  if  they  did  not  get  the 
stock  they  seemed  to  have  enjoyed  the  fun.  But  it  scared  me 
out  of  about  twelve  months'  growth. 

I  went  on  to  one  of  my  uncles  who  lived  some  distance 
across  the  river,  though  I  ran  a  slight  risk  of  meeting  South- 
ern scouts.  Where  old  John  went  I  did  not  learn  for  some 
days.  The  next  day  I  left  the  mule  hid  out  near  my  uncle's 
and  ventured  back  home  on  foot.  When  I  reached  the  house 
mother  was  delighted  to  see  me  and  find  tVit  I  was  safe.    The 


The  Story  of  My  Life 


^ 


Some  Tragic  Incidents  in  the  Hill  Country  67 

Yankees  on  their  return  assured  her  that  I  was  not  hurt  and 
they  went  on  their  way.  I  had  a  thrilling  experience  to  relate 
to  her,  but  she  had  stood  in  the  yard  and  witnessed  the  most 
of  it.  She  made  sure  that  the  horse  and  the  mule  were  gone 
when  she  first  saw  those  fellows  standing  in  the  road  and 
looking  across  toward  them  at  the  barn. 

It  was  three  or  four  days  before  we  heard  anything  from  old 
John.  Early  one  morning  he  came  slipping  up  the  back  of  the 
yard  and  peeped  into  the  kitchen  and  said:  "Miss  Jane,  dem 
Yankees  done  gone?  Da  sho'  skeered  me  out'en  my  sense!" 
My  uncle,  to  whom  the  animals  belonged,  congratulated  us  on 
our  escape,  and  when  peace  was  declared  a  few  weeks  after 
he  was  ready  to  pitch  a  crop  in  his  effort  to  recoup  his 
broken  fortune.  But  as  long  as  I  live  I  will  never  forget 
that  race  across  the  bottoms  to  the  river  with  those  Yankees 
shouting  and  shooting  at  me.  My  pulse  beats  faster  to-day 
as  I  recount  the  incidents  and  live  over  the  experience  again. 
But  we  saved  the  mare  and  the  mule,  and  that  was  glory 
enough  for  one  day. 

Old  John  and  myself  became  fast  friends.  He  was  a  mighty 
coon  hunter  and  he  had  two  of  the  best  coon  dogs  in  all  that 
section.  Many  a  time  he  and  myself  have  gone  out  late  at 
night  and  started  a  coon.  The  dogs  would  put  him  up  a  large 
tree  and  John,  with  his  faithful  axe,  would  chop  till  nearly 
daylight  to  fell  that  tree.  When  it  was  ready  to  fall  I  would 
take  the  dogs  and  go  fifty  feet  beyond  danger  in  the  direction 
it  was  leaning  and  when  it  would  hit  the  ground  with  a  crash 
I  would  turn  the  dogs  loose  and  sic  them  into  the  branches, 
and  when  they  found  the  coon,  my,  what  a  beautiful  fight  we 
would  have!  Then  in  triumph  we  would  carry  our  game 
home  and  a  few  nights  later  John  would  have  a  coon  supper. 
But  right  there  I  drew  the  line.    No  coon  for  me. 


Chapter  VI 

A  Turning;  Point  in  My  Life 

We  are  never  assured  of  what  a  day  will  bring  forth,  and 
when  we  think  our  prospects  the  brightest  there  is  often  a 
cloud  hanging  in  the  foreground  of  our  plans  and  purposes. 
Just  at  a  time  when  I  thought  my  future  was  determined 
another  misfortune  flung  its  shadow  across  my  plans.  My 
benefactor,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken,  was  taken  ill  and 
after  a  few  weeks  died.  His  large  estate  passed  into  the  hands 
of  an  administrator  for  settlement  and  all  my  plans  were  thrown 
into  confusion.  There  was  no  possible  chance  for  me  to  make 
further  arrangements  about  land  and  stock  to  work  it.  For 
the  time  being  I  was  all  at  sea  and  rny  future  was  nebulous. 
After  resolving  the  situation  in  my  own  mind  without  reaching 
a  conclusion  I  submitted  the  question  to  mother  and  we  went 
over  it  carefully  together. 

Two  miles  from  where  we  lived  there  was  an  extensive  rock 
quarry  where  stones  were  gotten  out  for  bridge  and  building 
purposes,  and  it  was  owned  and  conducted  by  an  Englishman 
whose  name  was  Croft.  We  knew  him  very  well  and  he 
seemed  to  be  a  man  of  good  heart  and  he  was  acquainted  with 
our  condition.  He  was  just  past  middle  age,  a  good  business 
man  and  he  employed  quite  a  number  of  hands.  Now  since 
my  plans  for  farming  were  out  of  the  question,  we  both  con- 
cluded that  I  had  better  apply  to  him  for  an  apprenticeship 
to  become  a  stonemason.    It  would  pay  me  a  reasonably  good 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life  69 

salary  while  I  was  learning  the  trade  and  when  I  had  once 
finished  it  good  wages  would  always  be  assured.  Still  she 
had  some  misgiving  as  to  the  influence  of  such  associations 
upon  my  character.  I  assured  her  that  she  need  not  have 
any  fears  on  that  score.  But  she  had  keen  intuition  and  her 
mother-heart  saw  possible  danger. 

The  next  morning  I  went  out  to  the  quarry  and  saw  Mr. 
Croft  and  laid  my  desire  before  him.  He  looked  at  me  kindly 
and  said  that  he  feared  I  was  too  young  to  undertake  that  sort 
of  an  enterprise.  I  was  sixteen  years  of  age  and  rather  well 
developed  for  my  years,  and  I  felt  like  I  could  do  nearly  any- 
thing that  an  ordinary  man  could  do.  I  was  insistent  on  my 
proposition  and  told  him  that  I  was  more  than  willing  to  make 
the  effort  if  he  would  open  the  way.  He  finally  yielded  to  my 
entreaty,  for  I  was  importunate;  and  he  told  me  that  he  was 
willing  for  me  to  make  the  experiment.  My  bosom  swelled 
with  emotions  at  the  thought  of  my  success.  He  took  me  into 
his  office  and  explained  to  me  what  my  duties  would  be.  At 
first  I  would  simply  carry  tools  from  the  works  to  the  shop, 
get  them  put  in  good  condition  and  keep  the  workmen  supplied 
with  their  implements ;  then,  after  I  had  served  at  this  the 
usual  time,  I  would  be  put  to  simple  drilling  and  get  stones 
ready  for  splitting ;  and  when  I  had  learned  to  handle  the  drills 
well  I  would  be  put  to  dressing  the  material ;  and  that  during 
the  term  of  my  apprenticeship  he  would  pay  me  seventy-five 
cents  per  day  if  I  would  board  myself.  That  was  easy  and  it 
looked  good  to  me.  Four  dollars  and  fifty  cents  per  week 
would  amount  to  eighteen  dollars  per  month  and,  in  my  eyes, 
that  was  a  good  salary.  With  what  mother  could  do  with  her 
needle  we  could  get  along  swimmingly,  for  we  already  had  sup- 
plies to  do  us  for  several  months,  if  not  quite  a  year.  It 
was  glorious. 


JO  The  Story  of  My  Life 

I  hastened  back  home  to  tell  mother  and  she  was  much 
pleased  with  the  arrangement.  That  night  she  talked  it  all 
over  with  me  and  gave  me  wholesome  advice  as  to  my  conduct, 
for  she  knew  that  the  vocation  was  a  hard  one  and  that  it 
would  throw  me  face  to  face  with  many  gross  temptations,  and 
that  I  would  need  to  be  on  my  guard.  She  was  more  interested 
in  my  moral  welfare  than  she  was  in  my  material  success.  She 
knew  also  the  rough  class  of  people  I  would  be  associated 
with  and  it  was  natural  for  her  to  be  anxious  about  me. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  with  my  little  dinner- 
bucket  on  my  arm  I  was  off  for  the  rock  quarry  with  a  light 
heart  and  with  high  hopes.  My  first  day  carrying  tools  from 
and  to  the  shop  was  easy.  In  fact,  it  was  a  sort  of  play  for  me. 
I  really  wanted  to  get  through  with  that  part  of  my  training 
and  get  a  hammer  and  a  drill  in  my  hands.  I  noticed  the  old 
workmen  and  there  was  nothing  difficult  about  their  work  and 
they  seemed  to  like  me.  Most  of  them  were  grizzled  Irishmen, 
jolly  fellows  and  full  of  fun.  They  always  had  something 
amusing  to  say  to  me,  and  I  rather  enjoyed  their  easy  and 
familiar  way  of  jesting  with  me.  But  they  were  a  rough  lot 
of  men,  with  no  refinement  and  very  coarse  in  their  language. 
Then  I  recalled  why  it  was  that  my  mother  felt  some  concern 
about  my  association  with  them.  At  night  when  I  would  go 
home  she  would  ask  me  all  about  my  work  and  the  men  and 
how  they  treated  me.  She  kept  herself  very  well  posted  as  to 
my  surroundings  and  the  effect  of  the  new  life  on  me.  These 
jolly  old  Irishmen  were  not  only  coarse  and  vulgar  in  their 
speech,  but  they  were  drinking  men  also.  Usually,  on  Monday 
mornings,  they  were  out  of  repair  and  not  fit  for  work  until 
the  day  was  half  gone.  They  would  laugh  and  rehearse  their 
Sunday  experiences  and  tell  me  that  I  did  not  know  what  fun 
Was ;  that  I  ought  to  come  over  to  the  tavern  and  spend  some 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life  Ji 

time  with  them.  The  other  employes  were  negroes.  They 
worked  at  the  derrick  and  hauled  the  dressed  stones  to  the 
river  where  the  railway  bridge  was  in  course  of  construction 
across  the  French  Broad.  They  were  also  a  hard  crowd.  I  was 
at  home  at  night  with  my  mother  and  one  visit  to  the  tavern 
on  Sunday  more  than  satisfied  me.  I  did  not  want  any  more 
of  that  sort  of  observation. 

Mr.  Croft  was  kind  to  me  and  really  liked  me,  but  he  had 
a  boss  by  the  name  of  Tommy  Thorn  who  did  not  like  any- 
body. He  was  an  old  man,  stooped  over  with  age  and  dissi- 
pation, small  of  stature  and  not  strong.  He  was  cross-grained, 
mean-tempered  and  the  most  expert  cusser  I  ever  heard  talk. 
Profanity  was  his  common  vernacular.  He  had  reduced  it  to 
a  science,  and  I  have  never  met  his  equal  as  an  adept  in  the 
use  of  profane  speech.  The  Irishmen  could  not  hold  him  a 
candle  in  the  game  of  swearing.  He  swore  when  he  was  in 
good  humor,  which  was  a  rare  state  of  temper  for  him,  and  he 
swore  worse  when  he  was  in  a  fit  of  anger ;  and  he  was  usually 
mad  at  somebody  or  about  something.  It  was  the  exception 
when  anything  or  anybody  pleased  him.  He  was  an  old  Eng- 
lishman, a  sort  of  a  dilapidated  old  reprobate.  He  had  been 
all  over  the  world  and  had  mixed  with  all  sorts  of  people.  But 
he  was  an  experienced  stonemason  and  he  was  gifted  in  his 
ability  to  keep  men  at  work  and  as  to  the  best  methods  of 
constantly  keeping  them  busy.  This  is  why  Mr.  Croft  kept 
him,  for  in  this  capacity  he  was  indispensable.  As  Mr.  Croft 
was  a  mild  gentleman,  and  never  used  any  harsh  language,  I 
often  thought  that,  as  there  was  much  about  a  rock  quarry  to 
provoke  a  man,  he  kept  old  Tommy  to  do  the  cursing  for  him. 
I  never  did  hear  him  reprove  or  correct  the  old  scalawag  for 
his  bad  language. 

The  old  fellow  seemed  to  have  it  in  for  me.     It  mattered 


72.  The  Story  of  My  Life 

not  what  went  wrong  about  the  works  he  would  light  into  me. 
He  would  curse  round  and  about  the  Irishmen  when  in  his 
violent  moods,  but  never  directly  at  them.  I  was  a  boy  learning 
a  trade  and  he  ran  no  risk  in  directing  his  ugly  words  at  me. 
I  made  very  good  progress  and  after  I  was  there  some  months 
I  was  a  fairly  good  stonedresser  for  an  apprentice.  But  I  was 
not  an  expert  by  any  means.  I  was  still  a  trifle  awkward  in 
the  use  of  the  hammer  and  often  I  would  strike  my  forefinger 
and  thumb  and  have  the  skin  all  knocked  off  of  them.  Old 
Tommy  ohserved  this  one  day  and  with  some  of  his  select  pro- 
fanity he  told  me  it  was  a  pity  that  I  did  not  let  the  hammer 
fall  on  my  head  instead  of  on  my  hand.  When  he  turned  to  go 
to  some  other  part  of  the  works  one  of  the  old  Irishmen  said 
to  me :  "Me  boy,  ye  has  taken  enough  off 'n  the  old  divil  and, 
be  gorry,  ye  ought  to  let  drive  your  hammer  at  his  old  head." 
I  felt  like  the  advice  was  good,  but  I  was  anxious  to  finish  my 
trade  and  be  independent  and  so  determined  to  submit  to  his 
abuse  at  all  hazards. 

By  and  by  I  was  well  advanced  in  my  work  and  thought  I 
was  making  good  headway  and  I  became  much  better  pleased 
with  myself  than  old  Tommy  was  pleased  with  me  or  my  work. 
He  would  find  fault  with  it  despite  my  effort  to  put  up  a  good 
job.  The  more  I  tried  to  please  him  the  less  pleased  he  became. 
He  was  determined  not  to  like  me  or  anything  I  tried  to  do. 
The  brunt  of  his  abuse  kept  falling  on  me,  it  made  no  differ- 
ence whether  I  was  to  blame  or  not.  When  others  made  him 
angry  he  would  vent  his  spleen  on  me.  I  grew  tired  of  it. 
In  fact,  I  had  been  tired  of  it  for  some  time,  and  the  old 
Irishmen  who  were  always  ready  for  a  scrap  gave  me  all  sorts 
of  private  encouragement.  They  would  tell  me  what  they  did 
for  an  old  boss  in  the  "auld  country"  avd  how  it  taught  him 
some  sense. 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life  73 

One  day  things  went  wrong  in  the  yard  and  old  Tommy 
foamed  at  the  mouth  and  raved  like  a  maniac.  He  threw  his 
fiery  old  eyes  on  me  and  wanted  to  know  why  I  was  looking 
at  him,  and  with  some  of  his  choicest  profanity  he  fairly  grew 
livid  as  he  told  me  what  he  would  do  for  me.  It  was  more 
than  I  could  stand.  I  sprang  from  the  rock  upon  which  I  was 
seated  and  at  work  and  with  hammer  drawn  back  I  started 
toward  him  with  a  vicious  look  in  my  eye.  The  Irishmen 
cheered  me  on,  but  I  did  not  need  much  cheering.  The  old 
fellow  saw  he  was  in  for  it  and  before  I  got  in  striking  dis- 
tance of  him  he  turned  and  ran  as  hard  as  he  could  go  to  the 
office,  and  he  told  Mr.  Croft  that  if  he  did  not  drive  me  from 
the  works  he  would  not  stay  with  him  another  day.  The  old 
scamp  was  a  coward  and  I  proved  it  to  the  Irishmen  and  they 
were  delighted.  But  it  cost  me  my  job.  Mr.  Croft  called 
me  in  and  told  me  that  I  ought  not  to  have  noticed  the  old  man ; 
that  he  was  fractious,  and  while  very  provoking,  he  was  harm- 
less, and  that  I  ought  not  to  have  replied  to  him.  But  since 
I  had  come  to  an  open  rupture  with  him  I  would  have  to  go, 
for  the  old  man  was  boss  of  the  works  and  he  had  to  be  obeyed. 
So  that  wound  up  my  career  as  a  stonemason. 

As  I  left  old  Tommy  fired  some  of  his  select  profanity  at 
me,  but  he  kept  a  good  distance  between  us.  I  shouted  back 
that  if  I  ever  caught  him  out  of  the  quarry  any  time  in  the 
future  I  would  settle  with  him  in  short  order.  The  last  I 
heard  of  the  old  rascal  he  was  looking  daggers  at  me  and 
swearing  vociferously.  I  threw  my  coat  over  my  arm,  picked 
up  my  dinner-bucket  and  disappeared  from  the  quarry.  I  was 
never  quite  so  angry  in  all  my  life.  I  had  been  somewhat  at 
fault,  but  it  was  the  result  of  gross  injustice  and  I  hate  in- 
justice to  this  good  day.  I  resented  it  as  a  boy  and  I  have 
always  resented  it  as  a  man. 


74  The  Story  of  My  Life 

By  the  time  I  had  walked  about  a  mile  I  had  begun  to  cool 
off  and  then  I  began  to  do  some  thinking,  and  the  more  I 
thought  of  it  the  more  mortified  I  became  over  my  situation. 
The  fact  is  I  was  sorry  that  I  had  given  way  to  my  temper, 
even  under  the  mean  provocation.  I  wondered  what  mother 
would  think  when  she  learned  the  facts.  She  had  so  often 
exhorted  me  about  self-control  and  she  always  advised  me  to 
submit  to  a  wrong  rather  than  to  commit  a  second  wrong  in 
resenting  a  first  one.  And  now  I  had  not  only  given  way  to  a 
hot  temper,  but  I  had  endeavored  to  strike  a  man  old  enough 
for  my  grandfather.  But  I  could  not  recall  the  incident  and 
there  was  nothing  left  but  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Before  I 
reached  home,  however,  I  determined  not  to  tell  much  if  any- 
thing about  the  trouble  and  instead  substitute  another  plan  of 
life.  I  did  not  want  to  distress  her  and  then,  too,  I  did  not 
want  to  let  her  know  that  I  had  been  discharged.  I  could  not 
believe  that  I  had  done  wrong,  but  then  it  made  me  feel  badly 
to  think  that  mother  would  so  regard  it. 

I  loitered  somewhat  along  the  way  in  order  to  make  my 
home-coming  not  far  from  the  usual  hour.  It  was  Saturday 
afternoon,  anyway,  and  when  I  arrived  it  did  not  excite  in- 
quiry. After  supper  I  had  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  her 
about  the  tough  sort  of  characters  at  the  quarry  and  what  a 
life  of  temptation  it  was  among  them.  I  told  her  if  that  was 
the  nature  of  it  while  I  was  learning  it,  what  would  it  be  when 
I  had  finished  my  apprenticeship  and  entered  upon  my  life 
career  as  a  stonemason ;  that,  among  all  of  them  whom  I  knew, 
not  one  of  them  was  my  sort  of  a  man;  that  I  thought  there 
was  something  better  in  life  for  me  than  that  of  stonecutter, 
anyway.  I  also  rehearsed  to  her  the  story  of  old  Tommy's 
abuse  toward  me,  and  how  hard  it  was  to  live  in  peace  with 
him;  and  that  in  view  of  all  the  facts  I  had  a  notion  of  stop- 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life  75 

ping  my  part  of  it  right  then.  At  first  she  took  the  opposite 
view,  but  mildly  so ;  for  she  did  not  see  what  else  there  was  to 
do  at  that  time,  and  that  as  I  had  nearly  finished  my  trade,  why 
not  stick  tc  it  and  prove  to  the  world  that  one  boy  could  make 
a  sober  and  upright  stonemason.  We  argued  the  question 
quite  awhile,  and  when  she  saw  that  I  was  determined  to  give 
it  up  she  wanted  to  know  what  I  thought  of  doing. 

I  reminded  her  of  the  fact  that  her  brother,  living  m  North 
Georgia,  had  made  us  a  visit  nearly  a  year  before  and  that  he 
wanted  us  to  move  down  there  and  live  on  one  of  his  farms, 
and  that  he  would  help  us  out ;  but  at  that  time  we  were  doing 
so  well  with  our  good  friend,  that  we  did  not  care  to  break 
up  and  move  so  far.  But  now  our  friend  was  gone,  and  would 
it  not  be  well  for  us  to  take  up  my  uncle's  proposition  and 
move  to  Georgia?  It  would  put  us  in  a  better  community  and 
under  better  influences,  and  it  might  be  that  down  there  I 
would  have  some  chance  to  go  to  school.  One  thing  certain 
I  had  no  future  where  we  were  then  living,  and  this  change 
could  not  worst  our  condition.     It  might  improve  it. 

She  finally  accepted  my  view  of  the  situation  and  asked  me 
when  I  thought  we  ought  to  make  the  move.  I  suggested  that 
it  was  then  the  first  of  September  and  our  crop  was  on  hand 
and  ready  for  the  market,  and  that  I  had  better  go  on  down 
there  and  make  arrangements  for  her  to  follow,  after  she  had 
sold  our  corn;  and  if  she  agreed  to  it  I  would  leave  Monday 
morning.  So  that  was  the  agreement.  I  was  to  go  at  once 
to  Georgia. 

Monday  morning  by  four  o'clock  I  was  on  a  borrowed  horse 
with  my  brother  behind  me  to  take  the  animal  back  home,  with 
my  belongings  in  an  old-fashioned  country  satchel,  a  lunch 
sufficient  for  three  meals  and  on  my  way  fifteen  miles  to  Mossy 
Creek  to  take  the  train.     My  destination    from  thence  was 


76  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Dalton,  and  from  there  several  miles  into  the  country  near 
Spring  Place.  I  had  never  been  Nthat  far  from  home  in  all 
my  life  and  it  seemed  a  long  way.  Really  I  had  never  been 
on  a  passenger  train  in  my  life.  The  whole  experience  was  to 
be  brand  new  to  me.  With  my  belongings  in  that  satchel  1 
had  a  Colt's  navy  pistol  of  a  large  make.  It  was  an  old  weapon, 
and  what  under  the  sun  I  wanted  with  it  is  a  mystery  to  me 
to  this  good  day.  I  reached  the  station  in  time  to  catch  the 
eleven-o'clock  train.  I  purchased  my  ticket  and  boarded  the 
car  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  I  had  one  lone  lorn  fifty-cent 
piece  left  in  my  depleted  purse,  and  that  was  the  sum  and  sub- 
stance of  my  finances  for  the  rest  of  the  trip.  As  the  train 
whizzed  along  I  looked  first  at  the  people  and  then  through 
the  window  at  the  country  and  thought  over  my  journey  and 
what  was  to  come  of  it. 

Darkness  came  on  and  my  loneliness  was  intense.  I  knew 
nobody  and  nobody  had  spoken  to  me  all  day  on  that  car, 
except  the  conductor  when  he  called  for  my  ticket.  At  nine 
o'clock  we  reached  Dalton  and  disembarked.  I  had  never  been 
in  a  hotel.  I  saw  one  not  far  from  the  depot  and  went  to  it. 
I  asked  the  clerk  what  he  would  charge  me  for  a  room  that 
night  and  he  said  fifty  cents.  That  was  exactly  my  pile!  I 
called  for  the  accommodation,  but  before  retiring  I  told  him 
I  wanted  to  leave  very  early  the  next  morning  for  Spring 
Place  and  that  I  would  pay  him  then,  for  no  one  would  be  up 
when  I  would  leave.  He  smiled  and  took  the  silver  half  dollar. 
I  went  to  my  room,  and  solitude  is  no  name  for  the  room  I 
occupied  that  night.  I  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  I 
knew  nobody  and  nobody  knew  or  cared  about  me.  After 
awhile  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep  and  awoke  bright  and  early 
the  next  morning.  It  was  not  good  daylight.  I  arose  and 
hastened  downstairs,  and  there  sat  the  same  clerk  whom  I  had 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life  jy 

paid  the  night  before.  It  had  never  dawned  on  me  that  a 
hotel  clerk  sat  up  all  night.  He  spoke  to  me  and  I  inquired 
for  the  Spring  Place  road.  He  gave  me  the  direction,  but  sug- 
gested that  I  had  better  have  breakfast  before  beginning  my 
journey;  but  I  knew  better  than  he  that  I  had  nothing  with 
which  to  pay  for  it,  and  I  was  confident  it  could  not  be  had 
without  money.  I  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  and  bade  him 
good-bye  in  regular  old  country  style. 

It  was  not  long  until  I  was  in  the  road  and  making  tracks 
across  the  country  to  where  my  uncle  lived.  It  was  in  1866 
and  the  marks  of  Sherman's  march  to  the  sea  were  everywhere 
visible.  The  country  was  very  much  out  of  repair  and  all 
around  Dalton  the  earth  was  marked  with  breastworks.  Every 
hill  showed  signs  of  war.  Much  of  the  fencing  had  not  been 
restored  and  here  and  there  I  could  see  blackened  chimneys 
still  standing.  After  I  had  gotten  out  a  few  miles  I  stopped 
and  took  that  old  pistol  with  its  belt  and  scabbard  out  of  my 
satchel  and  buckled  the  war  paraphernalia  around  my  person 
on  the  outside  of  my  coat.  Just  why  I  did  this  I  cannot  explain. 
I  must  have  looked  a  caution  in  my  homespun  suit  and  rural 
air  trudging  along  that  highway  with  that  old  army  pistol 
fastened  around  me.  In  going  down  a  hill  toward  a  ravine 
from  which  there  was  another  hill  in  front  of  me  I  met  two 
men  horseback.  They  spoke  to  me  and  eyed  me  very  curiously, 
but,  Strang  to  say,  I  could  not  tell  why.  Why  would  not  men 
eye  such  a  looking  war  arsenal  as  that  ?  There  were  two  others 
riding  down  the  hill  in  front  of  me,  and  as  the  first  two  passed 
me  they  stopped  and  looked  back  at  the  others  and  shouted: 
"Lookout,  boys,  he  is  loaded !" 

I  trudged  persistently  along,  for  I  was  a  great  walker. 
By  and  by  I  came  to  Conasauga  River,  a  beautiful  stream,  and 
it  was  about  seventy-five  yards  wide  or  nearly  so.     I  looked 


78 


The  Story  of  My  Life 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life  79 

up  the  stream  and  saw  a  shallow  shoal  not  far  away  and  I 
soon  wended  my  way  to  it,  stripped  off  and  forded  it.  By 
eleven  o'clock  I  was  in  the  town  of  Spring  Place,  a  country 
village  of  three  hundred  people,  situated  upon  rolling  red 
hills;  and  they  were  just  about  as  non-progressive  as  any 
people  I  have  ever  met  before  or  since.  I  walked  up  in  front 
of  the  easy-going  little  old  tavern,  with  a  rickety  front  porch, 
the  place  where  the  idlers  of  the  village  gathered  for  gossip. 
Several  of  them  were  there,  and  the  leading  man  among  them 
was  the  innkeeper,  by  the  name  of  O'Connell,  a  sloven  Irish- 
man of  huge  proportions.  He  wore  a  pair  of  indifferent 
trousers,  a  soiled  shirt  whose  bosom  was  well  bespattered 
with  tobacco  juice  and  an  old  linen  duster.  Both  corners  of 
his  mammoth  mouth  were  smeared  with  the  weed.  My  ap- 
pearance with  that  army  gun  fastened  around  me  touched  off 
his  fountain  of  humor  and  he  threw  back  his  shaggy  head 
and  roared  like  the  bray  of  a  hungry  donkey  on  a  late  stubble- 
field.  That  was  the  signal  and  I  soon  found  myself  the  center 
of  more  fun  than  that  little  lazy  old  village  had  enjoyed  in 
many  a  day.  They  addressed  all  sorts  of  questions  to  me 
and  made  me  the  butt  of  their  stale  ridicule  until  they  were 
satisfied  and  then,  nothing  daunted  by  my  treatment,  I  asked 
the  way  to  my  uncle's,  calling  him  by  name.  One  of  them 
gave  me  the  directions,  and  it  was  three  miles  further  on. 
As  I  moved  off  they  were  still  hilarious  over  my  advent  and 
I  could  hear  them  for  some  time  as  I  moved  away. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  I  was  at  my  uncle's.  He  was  sur- 
prised to  see  me,  but  gave  me  a  cordial  welcome.  The  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  disarm  me,  and  that  ended  my  pistol- 
toting.  I  have  never  had  one  about  my  person  or  home  to 
this  good  day.  And  I  never  will  understand  just  why  I  had 
that  one.    A  good  dinner  refreshed  me  and  I  soon  unfolded 


8o  The  Story  of  My  Life 

my  plans  and  they  were  satisfactory  to  my  kind-hearted  kins- 
man. He  was  in  the  midst  of  cotton-picking  and  that  after- 
noon I  went  to  the  field  and,  with  a  long  sack  about  my  waist, 
had  my  first  experience  in  the  cottonfield.  I  had  seen  small 
patches  of  it  in  East  Tennessee,  but  never  before  had  I  seen 
fields  of  the  staple.  It  was  a  new  business  to  me,  but  I  had 
never  tackled  a  job  that  I  could  not  master,  except  to  learn 
the  trade  of  a  stonemason  under  old  Tommy  Thorn. 

Well,  as  I  have  again  referred  to  that  old  reprobate  I  will 
just  jump  forward  over  several  long  years  and  relate  the  cir- 
cumstances of  my  last  and  final  experience  with  him. 

Nearly  twenty  years  had  gone  by  since  my  leaving  the  rock 
quarry  with  vengeance  in  my  heart.  I  had  not  thought  of 
him  in  a  long  time,  but  I  had  not  entirely  forgotten  him.  At 
the  time  now  mentioned  I  was  pastor  of  Church  Street 
Church,  Knoxville,  Tennessee.  One  day  it  occurred  to  me 
to  revisit  the  old  haunts  of  my  boyhood.  I  still  had  relatives 
there.  And  as  I  would  be  near  the  grave  of  my  father  I 
concluded  to  set  up  a  suitable  memorial  with  which  to  mark 
his  long-neglected  grave. 

As  I  was  well  acquainted  through  Conference  association 
with  the  Methodist  pastor  in  charge  of  that  work  I  corre- 
sponded with  him  and  he  announced  my  coming  and  had  an 
appointment  for  me  to  preach  at  the  old  Bethcar  Church.  I 
went  up  some  days  before  and  visited  the  neighborhood. 
Most  of  the  old  people  had  gone  to  their  last  resting-place 
and  the  young  ones  had  grown  up  until  I  had  to  be  introduced 
to  them,  though  many  of  them  still  remembered  me  as  a 
boy  among  them. 

On  Saturday  before  Sunday"!  sent  an  old  negro,  who  knew 
the  location  of  the  grave  of  my  father,  to  the  graveyard  to 
put  it  in  good  condition.    He  founud  another  close  to  it  and  in 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life,  8l 

order  to  be  sure  of  the  right  one  he  put  both  of  them  in 
repair.  Three  or  four  relatives  went  with  me  to  see  that 
the  stone  was  properly  set,  and  I  noticed  what  appeared  to 
be  the  new  grave  close  to  the  one  so  dear  to  me  and  asked 
about  it.  One  of  my  companions  thought  a  moment  and  then 
said:  "Oh,  don't  you  remember  old  Tommy  Thorn,  who 
used  to  boss  old  Brother  Croft's  rock  quarry?  He  was  buried 
right  there  some  years  ago  and  that  old  negro  fixed  it  up 
along  with  your  father's  this  morning." 

Then  memory  got  into  active  operation.  That  Saturday 
evening  in  the  long  ago  and  the  old  rock  quarry  came  troop- 
ing up  and  the  scene  of  other  days  stood  out  before  me  in 
life-measure.  I  heard  the  profanity  of  old  Tommy;  I  recalled 
the  drawn  hammer  in  my  hand,  and  almost  felt  the  stirring 
of  the  anger  that  resented  his  injustice.  I  heard  Mr.  Croft 
tell  me  that  I  was  discharged,  and  I  saw  my  form  threading  the 
wooded  path  to  my  mother's  humble  cottage  home.  And  then  I 
thought  maybe  that  incident  was  providential  after  all.  Had 
it  not  been  for  old  Tommy's  dislike  toward  me  and  by  dis- 
charge from  the  stoneyard,  what  would  have  become  of  me? 
I  realized  that  the  mortifying  episode  of  the  years  long  gone 
had  been  the  turning  point  in  my  life.  Instead  of  its  having 
wrought  to  my  detriment,  it  had  changed  the  channel  of  my 
life  into  another  and  a  better  current. 

I  turned  to  my  friend  and  said:  "Yes,  I  remember  old 
Tommy.  He  made  an  impression  once  upon  my  mind  that  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  forget.  The  probability  is  I  owe  more 
to  him  than  to  most  any  other  one  man.  He  did  not  mean  it 
for  my  good,  and  it  was  not  his  purpose  to  aid  Providence  in 
looking  after  me;  but  had  he  been  kind  and  patient  with  me 
I  would  not  be  here  to-day  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel  of 
Jesus  Christ.     And  when  you  first  told  me  that  this  is  his 


82  The  Story  of  My  Life 

grave  my  first  impulse  was  to  dig  him  up  and  move  him  to 
another  place.  But — no,  God  has  disposed  of  the  poor  old 
fellow;  and  I  hold  no  ill-will  against  him.  The  last  time  I 
saw  him  I  did  not  dream  that  in  later  years  I  would  find  him 
sleeping  so  close  to  my  father." 

Just  at  that  juncture  this  same  friend  looked  up  and  said: 
"Yonder  comes  old  Brother  Croft,  too!  He  has  changed  a 
great  deal,  but  he  is  the  same  old  man  whom  you  used  to 
know.    I  am  going  to  see  if  he  will  know  you." 

As  I  glanced  around  I  saw  an  old  gentleman  with  beard 
as  white  as  snow,  his  face  wrinkled,  his  form  bent  and  his 
step  halting  and  feeble.     Of  course  he  did  not  recognize  me. 

He  said :  'What  is  going  on  here  ?  Anybody  dead  ?  I  had 
not  heard  of  it." 

My  friend  told  him  that  we  were  only  repairing  Colonel 
Eankin's  grave  and  putting  a  stone  over  it.  And  he  then 
asked  him  if  he  knew  the  man  standing  before  him.  He 
shook  his  head.  Then  I  was  introduced  to  him.  He  at  once 
recalled  me  and  said :  "I  remember  your  father  well ;  he  was 
a  friend  of  mine.  I  was  here  when  he  was  buried.  I  also 
remember  your  mother  and  your  smaller  brother  and  sister. 
You  worked  awhile  in  my  rock  quarry,  didn't  you?  But  that 
has  been  a  long  time  ago.  I  am  now  an  old  and  broken  man. 
My  family  are  nearly  all  gone.  I  am  most  alone.  Oh,  how 
the  years  fly!  And  you  are  now  a  preacher?  Well,  well; 
what  changes  come  to  us!  We  never  know  what's  in  a  boy. 
You  are  going  to  preach  for  us  to-morrow?  Well,  I  am  cer- 
tainly glad  to  meet  you  again  and  I  will  surely  hear  you  in  the 
morning.  By  the  way,  whose  new  grave  is  that  by  your 
father's?" 

I  told  him  that  I  had  just  been  informed  that  it  was  old 
Tommy  Thorn's.     He  looked  surprised  for  the  moment,  but 


A  Turning  Point  in  My  Life  83 

r 

recovered  himself  and  said :  "Why,  it  looks  like  a  new  grave, 
and  I  did  not  recognize  it.  Yes,  I  buried  old  Tommy  there 
eight  years  ago.  He  died  at  my  house.  I  am  the  only  friend 
he  had  for  years.  He  was  a  curious  old  fellow,  but  away 
down  in  his  heart  he  was  not  as  bad  as  he  seemed  on  the 
outside.  Whiskey  ruined  him.  It  will  ruin  any  man  who 
sticks  to  it.  I  knew  him  back  in  England.  He  belonged  to 
a  good  family  and  they  were  friends  of  ours,  and  so  I  kept 
him  many  years.    You  remember  old  Tommy,  don't  you?" 

I  told  him  that  I  had  a  very  vivid  recollection  of  the  old 
man  and  that  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  after  all  these  years 
sleeping  near  my  father.  But  that  it  was  all  right,  for  the 
grave  blotted  out  all  old  scores  and  the  passing  years  had 
healed  the  wounds  that  once  gave  pain. 

The  next  day  for  miles  the  people  came  to  the  old  Church 
in  throngs.  It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  May — an  East 
Tennessee  morning  in  this  beautiful  springtime.  The  foliage 
and  the  flowers  were  in  their  glory  and  the  wildwoods  were 
resounding  with  the  songs  of  the  birds.  N'early  all  the  faces 
before  me  looked  strange.  The  most  of  the  people  whom  I 
knew  in  the  vanished  years  were  sleeping  near  by  in  the 
churchyard.  Hallowed  memories  of  other  days  crowded  my 
mind.  There  was  a  mellowness  of  sentiment  in  my  heart  and 
my  thoughts  went  upward  to  that  other  land  where  the  good 
had  gathered,  and  an  inspiration  seized  me.  It  was  a  great 
day  in  old  Bethcar  Church.  Old  Brother  Croft,  in  his  feeble- 
ness, came  into  the  pulpit  and  clasped  me  in  his  arms  and 
wept  on  my  shoulders.    It  was  a  time  for  praise  and  rejoicing. 


Chapter  VII 

My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the 
Ministry 

After  disposing  of  my  experience  with  old  Tommy  I  will 
resume  the  thread  of  my  story.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon 
and  I  was  tired.  Dragging  that  long  bag  after  me  and 
bending  over  picking  cotton  had  me  well-nigh  exhausted. 
Then  it  was  that  my  uncle  suggested  that  we  take  in  the 
wagon  and  feed  the  mules,  get  an  early  supper  and  all  go  out 
to  Church,  as  there  was  a  good  revival  in  progress. 

Center  Valley  was  the  name  of  the  Church  and  was  two 
miles  from  where  he  lived.  Going  to  Church  was  something 
rather  new  for  me.  While  my  mother  was  a  strict  member 
of  the  Methodist  Church  and  while  she  had  brought  me  up 
under  very  strict  religious  tutelage,  yet  since  the  death  of  my 
'ather  she  had  not  lived  within  reach  of  her  place  of  worship 
and  she  had  attended  very  rarely  upon  the  service.  Since 
I  had  left  my  old  grandfather's  home  I  had  known  but  little 
about  Church-going.  And  my  recollection  about  his  Church 
service  did  not  appeal  to  me.  But,  as  I  soon  learned,  my 
uncle  was  a  very  religious  man  and  very  faithful  in  his 
Church  duties.  However,  it  was  something  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary for  me.  As  to  revivals,  I  could  not  recall  the  last  one  I 
had  attended.  So  I  was  not  enthusiastic  in  my  desire  to  go 
to  this  one/  I  was  an  entire  stranger,  was  tired  from  the  long 


My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry  85 

walk  in  the  forenoon  and  that  new  experience  in  the  cotton- 
field  had  taxed  me.  I  wanted  to  go  to  bed  and  get  some 
needed  rest.  But  my  uncle  was  insistent  and  I  went  more  to 
please  him  than  out  of  any  desire  of  my  own. 

After  the  team  had  been  fed  and  we  had  been  to  supper 
we  put  the  mules  to  the  wagon,  filled  it  with  chairs  and  we 
were  off  to  the  meeting.  When  we  reached  the  locality  it 
was  about  dark  and  the  people  were  assembling.  Their  horses 
and  wagons  filled  up  the  cleared  spaces  and  the  singing  was 
already  in  progress.  My  uncle  and  his  family  went  well  up 
toward  the  front,  but  I  dropped  into  a  seat  well  to  the  rear. 
It  was  an  old-fashioned  Church,  ancient  in  appearance,  oblong 
in  shape  and  unpretentious.  It  was  situated  in  a  grove  about 
one  hundred  yards  from  the  road.  It  was  lighted  with  old 
tallow-dip  candles  furnished  by  the  neighbors.  It  was  not  a 
prepossessing-looking  place,  but  it  was  soon  crowded  and  evi- 
dently there  was  a  great  deal  of  interest.  A  cadaverous- 
looking  man  stood  up  in  front  with  a  tuning  fork  and  raised 
and  led  the  songs.  There  were  a  few  prayers  and  the  minister 
came  in  with  his  saddlebags  and  entered  the  pulpit.  He  was  the 
Rev.  W.  H.  Heath,  the  circuit  rider.  His  prayer  impressed 
me  with  his  earnestness  and  there  were  many  amens  to  it  in 
the  audience.  I  do  not  remember  his  text,  but  it  was  a  typical 
revival  sermon,  full  of  unction  and  power. 

At  its  close  he  invited  penitents  to  the  altar  ana  a  great 
many  young  people  flocked  to  it  and  bowed  for  prayer.  Many 
of  them  became  very  much  affected  and  they  cried  out  dis- 
tressingly for  mercy.  It  had  a  strange  effect  on  me.  It  made 
me  nervous  and  I  wanted  to  retire.  Directly  my  uncle  came 
back  to  me,  put  his  arm  around  my  shoulder  and  asked  me  if 
I  did  not  want  to  be  religious.  3  I  told  him  that  I  had  always 
had  that  desire,  that  mother  had  brought  me  up  that  way,  and 


86  The  Story  of  My  Life 

really  I  did  not  know  anything  else.  Then  he  wanted  to  know 
if  I  had  ever  professed  religion.  I  hardly  understood  what 
he  meant  and  did  not  answer  him.  He  changed  his  question 
and  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  been  to  the  altar  for  prayer,  and 
I  answered  him  in  the  negative.  Then  he  earnestly  besought 
me  to  let  him  take  me  up  to  the  altar  and  join  the  others  in 
being  prayed  for.  It  really  embarrassed  me  and  I  hardly 
knew  what  to  say  to  him.  He  spoke  to  me  of  my  mother  and 
said  that  when  she  was  a  little  girl  she  went  to  the  altar 
and  that  Christ  accepted  her  and  she  had  been  a  good  Christian 
all  these  years.  That  touched  me  in  a  tender  spot,  for  mother 
always  did  do  what  was  right ;  and  then  I  was  far  away  from 
her  and  wanted  to  see  her.  Oh,  if  she  were  there  to  tell  me 
what  to  do! 

By  and  by  I  yielded  to  his  entreaty  and  he  ied  me  forward 
to  the  altar.  The  minister  took  me  by  the  hand  and  spoke 
tenderly  to  me  as  I  knelt  at  the  altar.  I  had  gone  more  out  of 
sympathy  than  conviction,  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  after 
I  bowed  there.  The  others  were  praying  aloud  and  now  and 
then  one  would  rise  shoutingly  happy  and  make  the  old  build- 
ing ring  with  his  glad  praise.  It  was  a  novel  experience  to  me. 
I  did  not  know  what  to  pray  for,  neither  did  I  know  what  to 
expect  if  I  did  pray.  I  spent  the  most  of  the  hour  wondering 
why  I  was  there  and  what  it  all  meant.  No  one  explained 
anything  to  me.  Once  in  awhile  some  good  old  brother  or 
sister  would  pass  my  way,  strike  me  on  the  back  and  tell  me 
to  look  up  and  believe  and  the  blessing  would  come.  But 
that  was  not  encouraging  to  me.  In  fact,  it  sounded  like  non- 
sense and  the  noise  was  distracting  me.  Even  in  my  crude 
way  of  thinking  I  had  an  idea  that  religion  was  a  sensible 
thing  and  that  people  ought  to  become  religious  intelligently 
and  without  all  that  hurrah.     I  presume  that  my  ideas  were 


My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry  87 

the  result  of  the  Presbyterian  training  given  to  me  by  old 
grandfather.  By  and  by  my  knees  grew  tired  and  the  skin 
was  nearly  rubbed  off  my  elbows.  I  thought  the  service  never 
would  close,  and  when  it  did  conclude  with  the  benediction  I 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  That  was  my  first  experience  at  the 
mourner's  bench. 

As  we  drove  home  I  did  not  have  much  to  say,  but  I  listened 
attentively  to  the  conversation  between  my  uncle  and  his  wife. 
They  were  greatly  impressed  with  the  meeting,  and  they 
spoke  first  of  this  one  and  that  one  who  had  "come  through" 
and  what  a  change  it  would  make  in  the  community,  as  many 
of  them  were  bad  boys.  As  we  were  putting  up  the  team  my 
uncle  spoke  very  encouragingly  to  me;  he  was  delighted  with 
the  step  I  had  taken  and  he  pleaded  with  me  not  to  turn  back, 
but  to  press  on  until  I  found  the  pearl  of  great  price.  He 
knew  my  mother  would  be  very  happy  over  the  start  I  had 
made.  Before  going  to  sleep  I  fell  into  a  train  of  thought, 
though  I  was  tired  and  exhausted.  I  wondered  why  I  had 
gone  to  that  altar  and  what  I  had  gained  by  it.  I  felt  no 
special  conviction  and  had  received  no  special  impression, 
but  then  if  my  mother  had  started  that  way  there  must  be 
something  in  it,  for  she  always  did  what  was  right.  I  silently 
lifted  my  heart  to  God  in  prayer  for  conviction  and  guidance. 
I  knew  how  to  pray,  for  I  had  come  up  through  prayer,  but 
not  the  mourner's  bench  sort.  So  I  determined  to  continue 
to  attend  the  meeting  and  keep  on  going  to  the  altar  until  1 
got  religion. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  was  up  and  in  a  serious  frame  of 
mind.  I  went  with  the  other  hands  to  the  cottonfield  and  at 
noon  I  slipped  off  in  the  barn  and  prayed.  But  the  more  I 
thought  of  the  way  those  young  people  were  moved  in  the 
meeting  and  with  what  glad  hearts  they  had  shouted  their 


88  The  Story  of  My  Life 

praises  to  God  the  more  it  puzzled  and  confused  me.  I  could 
not  feel  the  conviction  that  they  had  and  my  heart  did  not 
feel  melted  and  tender.  I  was  callous  and  unmoved  in  feeling 
and  my  distress  on  account  of  sin  was  nothing  like  theirs. 
I  did  not  understand  my  own  state  of  mind  and  heart.  It 
troubled  me,  for  by  this  time  I  really  wanted  to  have  an 
experience  like  theirs. 

When  evening  came  I  was  ready  for  Church  service  and 
was  glad  to  go.  It  required  no  urging.  Another  large  crowd 
was  present  and  the  preacher  was  as  earnest  as  ever.  I  did 
not  give  much  heed  to  the  sermon.  In  fact,  I  do  not  recall 
a  word  of  it.  I  was  anxious  for  him  to  conclude  and  give  me 
a  chance  to  go  to  the  altar.  I  had  gotten  it  into  my  head  that 
there  was  some  real  virtue  in  the  mourner's  bench ;  and  when 
the  time  came  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  prostrate  myself 
before  the  altar  in  prayer.  Many  others  did  likewise.  Two 
or  three  good  people  at  intervals  knelt  by  me  and  spoke  en- 
couragingly to  me,  but  they  did  not  help  me.  Their  talks 
were  mere  exhortations  to  earnestness  and  faith,  but  there  was 
no  explanation  of  faith,  neither  was  there  any  light  thrown 
upon  my  mind  and  heart.  I  wrought  myself  up  into  tears 
and  cries  for  help,  but  the  whole  situation  was  dark  and  I 
hardly  knew  why  I  cried,  or  what  was  the  trouble  with  me. 
Now  and  then  others  would  arise  from  the  altar  in  an  ecstasy 
of  joy,  but  there  was  no  joy  for  me.  When  the  service  closed 
I  was  discouraged  and  felt  that  maybe  I  was  too  hard- 
hearted and  the  good  Spirit  could  do  nothing  for  me. 

After  we  went  home  I  tossed  on  the  bed  before  going  to 
sleep  and  wondered  why  God  did  not  do  for  me  what  he  had 
done  for  mother  and  what  he  was  doing  in  that  meeting  for 
those  young  people  at  the  altar.  I  could  not  understand  it. 
But  I  resolved  to  keep  on  trying,  and  so  dropped  off  to  sleep. 


My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry  89 

The  next  day  I  had  about  the  same  experience  and  at  night 
saw  no  change  in  my  condition.  And  so  for  several  nights  I 
repeated  the  same  distressing  experience.  The  meeting  took 
on  such  interest  that  a  day  service  was  adopted  along  with  the 
night  exercises,  and  we  attended  that  also.  And  one  morning 
while  I  bowed  at  the  altar  in  a  very  disturbed  state  of  mind 
Brother  Tyson,  a  good  local  preacher  and  the  father  of  Rev. 
J.  F.  Tyson,  now  of  the  Central  Conference,  sat  down  by  me 
and,  putting  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  said  to  me:  "Now  I 
want  you  to  sit  up  awhile  and  let's  talk  this  matter  over 
quietly.  I  am  sure  that  you  are  in  earnest,  for  you  have 
been  coming  to  this  altar  night  after  night  for  several  days. 
I  want  to  ask  you  a  few  simple  questions."  And  the  follow- 
ing questions  were  asked  and  answered : 

"My  son,  do  you  not  love  God?" 

"I  cannot  remember  when  I  did  not  love  him." 

"Do  you  believe  on  his  Son,  Jesus  Christ?" 

"I  have  always  believed  on  Christ.  My  mother  taught  me 
that  from  my  earliest  recollection." 

"Do  you  accept  him  as  your  Savior?" 

"I  certainly  do,  and  have  always  done  so." 

"Can  you  think  of  any  sin  that  is  between  you  and  the 
Savior?" 

"No,  sir;  for  I  have  never  committed  any  bad  sins." 

"Do  you  love  everybody?" 

"Well,  I  love  nearly  everybody,  but  I  have  no  ill-will  to- 
ward any  one.  An  old  man  did  me  a  wrong  not  long  ago 
and  I  acted  ugly  toward  him,  but  I  do  not  care  to  injure  him." 

"Can  you  forgive  him?" 

"Yes,  if  he  wanted  me  to." 

"But,  down  in  your  heart,  can  you  wish  him  well  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  can  do  that." 


90  The  Story  of  My  Life 

"Well,  now  let  me  say  to  you  that  if  you  love  God,  if  you 
accept  Jesus  Christ  as  your  Savior  from  sin  and  if  you  love 
your  fellowmen  and  intend  by  God's  help  to  lead  a  religious 
life,  that's  all  there  is  to  religion.  In  fact,  that  is  all  I  know 
about  it." 

Then  he  repeated  several  passages  of  Scriptures  to  me 
proving  his  assertions.  I  thought  a  moment  and  said  to  him : 
"But  I  do  not  feel  like  these  young  people  who  have  been 
getting  religion  night  after  night.  I  cannot  get  happy  like 
them.     I  do  not  feel  like  shouting." 

The  good  man  looked  at  me  and  smiled  and  said:  "Ah, 
that's  your  trouble.  You  have  been  trying  to  feel  like  them. 
Now  you  are  not  them ;  you  are  yourself.  You  have  your 
own  quiet  disposition  and  you  are  not  turned  like  them.  They 
are  excitable  and  blustery  like  they  are.  They  give  way  to 
their  feelings.  That's  all  right,  but  feeling  is  not  religion. 
Religion  is  faith  and  life.  If  you  have  violent  feeling  with 
it,  all  good  and  well,  but  if  you  have  faith  and  not  much 
feeh'ng,  why  the  feeling  will  take  care  of  itself.  To  love  God 
and  accept  Jesus  Christ  as  your  Savior,  turning  away  from  all 
sin,  and  living  a  godly  life,  is  the  substance  of  true  religion." 

That  was  new  to  me,  yet  it  had  been  my  state  of  mind  from 
childhood.  For  I  remembered  that  away  back  in  my  early  life, 
when  the  old  preacher  held  services  in  my  grandmother's 
house  one  day  and  opened  the  door  of  the  Church,  I  went  for- 
ward and  gave  him  my  hand.  He  was  to  receive  me  into  full 
membership  at  the  end  of  six  months'  probation,  but  he  let 
it  pass  out  of  his  mind  and  failed  to  attend  to  it. 

As  I  sat  there  that  morning  listening  to  the  earnest  ex- 
hortation of  the  good  man  my  tears  ceased,  my  distress  left 
me,  light  broke  in  upon  my  mind,  my  heart  grew  joyous,  and 
before  I  knew  just  what  I  was  doing  I  was  going  all  around 


My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry  91 

shaking  hands  with  everybody,  and  my  confusion  and  dark- 
ness disappeared  and  a  great  burden  rolled  off  my  spirit.  I 
felt  exactly  like  I  did  when  I  was  a  little  boy  around  my 
mother's  knee  when  she  told  of  Jesus  and  God  and  Heaven. 
It  made  my  heart  thrill  then,  and  the  same  old  experience 
returned  to  me  in  that  old  country  Church  that  beautiful 
September  morning  down  in  old  North  Georgia. 

I  at  once  gave  my  name  to  the  preacher  for  membership 
in  the  Church,  and  the  following  Sunday  morning,  along  with 
many  others,  he  received  me  into  full  membership  in  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  South.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
delightful  days  in  my  recollection.  It  was  the  third  Sunday 
in  September,  1866,  and  those  Church  vows  became  a  living 
principle  in  my  heart  and  life.  During  these  forty-five  long 
years,  with  their  alternations  of  sunshine  and  shadow,  daylight 
and  darkness,  success  and  failure,  rejoicing  and  weeping, 
fears  within  and  fightings  without,  I  have  never  ceased  to 
thank  God  for  that  autumnal  day  in  the  long  ago  when  my 
name  was  registered  in  the  Lamb's  Book  of  Life. 

Throughout  those  years  of  vicissitude  and  conflict  and 
struggle  I  have  had  my  ups  and  my  downs,  my  doubts  and 
fears ;  but  even  in  the  midst  of  my  fiercest  temptations  and 
many  discouragements  I  have  always  reverted  to  that  day's 
act  as  the  wisest  in  my  history.  I  made  a  complete  surrender 
of  mind  and  heart,  soul  and  body,  to  Christ  and  put  the  whole 
of  self  upon  his  altar.  As  I  look  back  I  regret  that  my  service 
has  been  so  feeble  and  inefficient,  but  in  some  respects  it  has 
been  the  best  I  could  do.  In  it  all  and  through  it  all  I  look 
to  Christ  as  my  merit  and  hope.  Whatever  have  been  my 
failures  and  my  imperfections  and  shortcomings  the  blood  of 
Jesus  Christ  cleanses  me  from  sin.     It  is  nothing  of  merit  in 


92  The  Story  of  My  Life  \ 

what  I  have  done  or  tried  to  do,  or  failed  to  do ;  but  it  is  His 
transcending  grace  that  saves  me. 

When  I  stood  before  that  altar  in  the  long  vanished  years, 
young,  inexperienced,  without  fortune  or  influential  friends, 
uneducated,  far  away  from  the  scenes  of  my  birth  and  boy- 
hood environment,  with  mysterious  aspirations  struggling  in 
my  heart  and  strange  sensations  stirring  in  my  spirit,  life  to 
me  was  a  prophecy.  Its  unfulfilled  dreams  and  anticipations 
were  hidden  in  the  mists  and  the  clouds  of  the  unborn  years. 
But  to-day  that  far-off  outlook  of  prophecy  has  been  unfolded 
and  its  record  has  gone  into  history;  and  as  I  turn  my  eye 
toward  the  sunset  my  conviction  becomes  deeper  and  deeper, 
and  if  I  had  a  thousand  lives  to  live  I  would  gladly  dedicate 
them  all  to  the  service  of  Christ. 

True,  I  have  nothing  in  the  way  of  wealth  or  fortune  to 
show  for  my  struggle  and  conflict  and  self-denial,  but  I  have 
faith  in  God  and  in  his  Son,  Jesus  Christ ;  and  my  hope  of 
Heaven  is  bright  and  glowing.  These  I  would  not  exchange 
for  the  wealth  of  the  world  and  the  transient  glory  of  human 
vanity.  Yes,  nearly  half  a  century  ago,  poor,  unknown  and 
untrained,  I  entered  into  vital  connection  with  the  Church  of 
God  in  an  obscure  rural  neighborhood,  and  it  was  an  occa- 
sion pregnant  with  tremendous  significance  to  me. 

As  we  returned  home  the  sun  shone  brighter,  the  birds  sang 
sweeter  and  the  autumn-time  looked  richer  than  ever  before. 
My  heart  was  light  and  my  spirit  buoyant.  I  had  anchored 
my  soul  in  the  haven  of  rest,  and  there  was  not  a  ripple  upon 
the  current  of  my  joy.  That  night  there  was  no  service  and 
after  supper  I  walked  out  under  the  great  old  pine  trees  and 
held  communion  with  God.  I  thought  of  mother,  and  heme, 
and  Heaven. 

Before  retiring  I  sat  down  and  wrote  mother  all  about  my 


LITTLE  MARY  FRANCES  STEVENS,  Deceased 

SHE  WAS  AS  SWEET  AS  THE  MUSIC   OF  SONG, 
AND  AS  BEAUTIFUL  AS  THE  FLOWERS  OF  MAY 


My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry  93 

experience  and  told  her  that  I  had  made  a  public  profession 
of  religion ;  that  I  had  that  day  been  received  into  the  Church ; 
that  I  had  made  peace  with  God,  and  that  I  was  happy  in  his 
service.  I  told  her  that  whatever  his  will  concerning  me 
might  be  I  was  ready  to  obey,  and  that  henceforth  my  life 
would  be  that  of  a  devoted  Christian. 

When  I  threw  myself  down  to  rest  that  night  the  thought 
came  to  me:  Life  now  is  to  be  service  as  well  as  happiness. 
If  God  has  anything  for  me  to  do  I  must  find  it  out  and  set 
myself  to  the  task.  There  is  not  much  that  I  can  do,  but 
whatever  it  is  I  must  be  about  it.  And  then  strange  sensa- 
tions moved  me,  like  those  I  experienced  back  in  Tennessee 
as  I  sat  upon  the  fence  one  morning  and  looked  out  over  my 
growing  corn.  This  time  I  suspected  their  meaning,  but  was 
not  sure  of  their  interpretation.  Like  young  Samuel,  when 
sleeping  near  old  Eli,  I  heard  a  faint  voice,  but  thought  that 
it  was  only  my  imagination,  and  then  went  into  a  sound  sleep. 

The  next  day  I  was  busy  about  my  farm  work.  My  uncle 
had  been  so  kind  to  me,  and  took  such  an  interest  in  me,  that 
I  already  felt  very  much  at  home.  He  trusted  me  from  the 
word  go.  It  was  not  long  until  I  led  in  all  the  work  to  be 
done,  such  as  breaking  the  ground  for  wheat,  cleaning  out 
the  fence-rows,  ginning  the  cotton  and  taking  it  to  market. 
In  fact,  I  became  indispensable  to  him. 

As  the  winter  approached  he  went  up  and  moved  mother 
down,  and  we  were  soon  in  our  own  rented  home  and  happ> 
in  our  family  union.  She  and  myself  took  time  about  in  con- 
ducting family  prayers,  and  we  read  the  Bible  together  at 
spare  times.  I  attended  prayer  service  regularly,  though  it 
was  a  walk  of  two  miles.  In  time  I  got  to  leading  in  the 
public  devotions,  and  those  strange  sensations  in  my  deeper 
spiritual  nature  grew  more  defined.    We  had  a  good  country 


94  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Sunday-school,  and  I  attended  that  with  punctuality.  When 
the  revival  season  approached  I  was  present.  We  organized 
a  grove  meeting  just  preceding  every  night  service  and  though 
it  greatly  embarrassed  me  they  called  on  me  to  lead  in  prayer. 
I  did  my  best  and  had  times  of  refreshing  from  the  presence 
of  the  Lord.  It  was  a  great  joy  to  me  to  see  the  people  go 
to  the  altar  and  to  talk  to  them. 

Thus  step  by  step  I  was  led  into  active  work  in  the  Church. 
I  was  exceedingly  timid  and  to  say  anything  in  public  was 
almost  like  taking  the  breath  out  of  me,  but  I  did  not  shirk 
any  duty.  Doubtless  what  I  had  to  say  was  stammering  and 
often  void  of  much  meaning;  for  my  education  was  limited, 
having  been  neglected  entirely  since  my  father's  death.  I 
could  read  and  write  and  understood  the  rudiments  of 
arithmetic. 

My  father  had  left  a  class  of  good  books,  such  as  histories 
and  biographies  and  a  few  religious  volumes,  and  these  I  had 
faithfully  read.  My  uncle  had  a  fairly  good  library  and  I 
had  access  to  that.  Then  we  had  bought  an  excellent  class 
of  books  for  our  Sunday-school  library,  and  I  drew  one  of 
them  every  other  Sunday.  So  I  was  reasonably  well  informed 
for  my  years  and  opportunities. 

I  had  always  been  fond  of  hearing  intelligent  men  talk  and 
had  picked  up  a  good  deal  of  information  in  that  way.  I  had 
one  book  of  temperance  lectures  and  I  almost  mastered  it. 
Fleetwood's  Life  of  Christ  was  very  interesting  to  me.  All 
my  idle  moments,  which  were  not  many  except  on  nights  and 
rainy  days,  I  devoted  to  reading.  Of  course  the  Bible  was 
my  staple.  Hence  I  was  often  called  upon  to  make  talks  and 
to  lead  in  public  prayer.  In  addition  to  these  few  advantages 
the  young  men  of  the  neighborhood,  along  with  a  few  of  the 
older  ones,  organized  a  debating  society  and  once  a  month 


My  Conversion  a.\i  Call  to  the  Ministry  95 

we  would  meet  and  have  joint  discussions.  They  were  awk- 
ward and  often  ludicrous  affairs,  but  they  accustomed  us  to 
speak  in  public. 

In  the  late  spring  the  county  Sunday-school  organization  ar- 
ranged for  a  union  rally  at  the  old  campground  and  each  school 
was  to  have  its  banner  and  its  orator.  Center  Valley  Sunday- 
school  was  noted  in  that  section  as  an  excellent  school.  The 
young  ladies  made  us  a  banner  and  I  was  elected  orator. 
When  the  day  came  we  turned  out  in  force,  had  marches  and 
counter-marches  and  had  singing.  Then  we  assembled  under 
the  large  pavilion  for  the  addresses.  Two  of  the  ministers 
made  the  leading  addresses,  and  then  the  school  orators  were 
called  for  and  one  other  and  myself  were  the  only  ones  to 
respond.  His  speceh  was  short  and  inconsequential.  Then 
I  was  introduced.  At  first  my  heart  was  in  my  mouth,  but 
I  had  taken  the  last  chapter  in  Fleetwood's  Life  of  Christ, 
which  was  a  summing  up  of  the  progress  and  triumphant 
results  of  Christ's  kingdom  in  the  world.  I  had  run  it  through 
my  own  mental  mold  as  far  as  possible  and  had  a  right  credit- 
able oration.  When  once  I  got  well  started  and  forgot  my- 
self I  did  rather  more  than  ordinary  for  a  green  country  boy. 
Our  school  was  delighted  with  my  effort  and  I  received  many 
compliments.  It  did  one  thing  for  me,  and  that  was  to  con- 
vince me  that  I  could  talk  in  public,  despite  my  timidity.  By 
this  time  I  was  well  known  in  our  entire  community  and 
somewhat  throughout  the  county. 

I  was  exceedingly  fond  of  Church  service.  I  would  go 
with  our  circuit  preacher  to  his  nearest  appointments  and  was 
often  called  upon  to  close  the  services  with  prayer.  I  never 
missed  a  Quarterly  Conference,  and  the  Sunday  service  fol- 
lowing it. 

We  had  some  fine  men  on  our  district.    Rev.  W.  P.  Harri- 


96  The  Story  of  My  Life 

son,  D.  D.,  was  one  of  them,  and  I  used  to  ride  twenty  miles 
to  hear  him  preach.  I  then  thought  him  the  greatest  preachei 
in  the  world.  He  was  the  greatest  I  had  ever  heard.  He  was 
a  scholarly  man;  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  knew  everything. 
He  had  the  look  of  a  student.  He  was  eloquent.  His  voice 
was  soft  and  tender  and  sweet.  His  manner  was  grace  itself, 
and  his  whole  appearance  was  that  of  the  orator.  I  shall 
never  forget  one  sermon  I  heard  him  preach  at  Hostler's 
Chapel.  His  text  was  the  first  seven  verses  of  the  twelfth 
chapter  of  Ecclesiastes,  beginning  with  the  verse:  "Remem- 
ber now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth."  The  outline 
and  substance  of  that  sermon  will  abide  with  me  forever. 

Then,  too,  the  old  Murray  County  Campground  was  a  rally- 
ing place  for  the  Methodists.  Distinguished  preachers  used 
to  visit  the  meeting,  such  as  Atticus  G.  Haygood,  W.  J.  Scott, 
H.  Adams,  R.  W.  Bigham,  George  W.  Yarborough,  George 
G.  Smith  and  a  host  of  others.  Their  ministrations  were  an 
inspiration  to  me  and  I  feasted  on  their  sermons  many  a  day 
after  the  meeting  had  closed. 

I  noticed  in  the  Southern  Christian  Advocate  that  Bishop 
George  F.  Pierce  was  to  hold  the  District  Conference  at 
Dalton  and  dedicate  the  new  Methodist  Church  at  that  place 
at  a  date  not  far  in  the  future.  I  resolved  to  make  it  con- 
venient to  hear  him  preach  once  during  that  gathering,  for 
I  felt  confident  that  no  other  Bishop  would  ever  come  that 
close  to  me  again,  and  the  opportunity  must  not  go  by  un- 
improved. So  when  the  time  approached  my  arrangements 
were  made.  Early  one  morning  my  wagon  was  loaded  with 
a  few  products  for  sale,  and  I  was  on  my  way  for  the  occasion 
of  my  life. 

I  arrived  in  good  time,  disposed  of  my  products  and  hitched 
my  team  in  the  wagonyard  and  slipped  around  to  the  Churci** 


My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry  97 

The  conference  had  adjourned  for  recess  just  before  preach- 
ing. I  hastened  in  to  get  me  a  seat,  and  then  I  began  to 
look  for  the  Bishop.  My  expectations  were  high.  Just  what 
his  appearance  would  be  I  could  not  well  imagine,  but  it  would 
be  something  extraordinary.  I  was  confident  that  a  Bishop 
was  no  ordinary  man. 

Directly  I  saw  the  Presiding  Elder  enter  with  a  man  leaning 
on  his  arm  and  I  instinctively  recognized  Bishop  Pierce.  He 
was  the  handsomest  man  physically  I  had  ever  seen.  There 
was  something  almost  angelic  in  his  face,  and  there  was  a 
charm  in  his  movement  as  he  walked  down  the  aisle.  When 
he  entered  the  pulpit  and  announced  his  hymn,  what  a  voice  I 
There  was  a  rhythm  that  thrilled  me.  His  prayer  brought 
heaven  and  earth  together  and  it  brought  the  audience  into 
rapport  with  the  preacher.  My  whole  nature  was  subdued. 
There  was  a  mellowness  in  my  heart  that  I  could  not  describe 
And  when  he  took  his  text  and  began  his  sermOn  it  was  but 
a  few  minutes  until  he  had  the  congregation  in  the  third 
heaven.  Nothing  like  it  had  ever  fallen  upon  my  ears.  My 
feelings  almost  ran  riot  and  I  fairly  became  unconscious  of 
my  surroundings.  As  he  proceeded  the  preachers  got  happy, 
a  number  of  them  shouted  aloud  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  scenes  of  the  Day  of  Pentecost  were  being  repeated 
When  he  swept  into  his  conclusion  the  whole  audience  almost 
lost  self-control  and  "heaven  came  down  our  souls  to  greet, 
and  glory  crowned  the  mercy  seat". 

As  soon  as  the  benediction  was  pronounced  I  hastened  out, 
went  to  my  team  and  started  for  home.  My  dream  had  come 
true.  I  had  heard  a  Bishop  and  even  my  expectations  had 
been  surpassed.  I  had  never  imagined  anything  like  I  had 
heard  that  day.  When  I  reached  home  that  night  I  had  won- 
derful things  to  tell  mo<her.     I  went  in  the  strength  of  that 


98  The  Story  of  My  Life 

meat  for  weeks  to  come. 

It  was  not  the  exuberance  of  my  youthful  imagination  that 
had  carried  me  away.  It  so  turned  out  that  I  heard  Bishop 
Pierce  in  my  maturer  years,  and  his  ministration  made  about 
the  same  impression  and  produced  the  same  effect  upon  the 
audience.  In  many  respects  he  was  the  most  wonderful 
preacher  that  American  Methodism  has  ever  produced.  Not 
the  greatest  in  his  scholarship,  or  in  the  profundity  of  his 
thought,  or  in  the  analysis  of  his  theme,  but  in  that  wonderful 
something  called  eloquence.  In  voice,  in  magnetism,  in  ease, 
in  dignity,  in  diction,  in  the  wealth  of  his  imagery,  he  was 
without  a  peer. 

In  this  way  and  throughout  these  experiences  God  was  lead- 
ing me  and  I  knew  it  not.  And  as  I  would  revert  to  these 
few  great  sermons  and  their  effect  upon  me  those  strange 
feelings  of  which  I  have  spoken  would  stir  my  heart  and 
creep  into  my  mind.  Just  what  they  meant  I  could  not  fully 
divine.  I  would  think  of  them  and  would  have  longings  to 
know  why  they  were  ever  and  anon  intruding  themselves  into 
my  conscious  being. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  on  my  way  back  from  a  Quarterly 
Conference,  where  we  had  licensed  a  young  man  to  preach, 
those  unaccountable  promptings  arrested  my  attention  more 
and  more.  So  that  night  I  told  mother  about  those  strange 
suggestions.  She  listened  to  me  attentively  and  then  re- 
marked :  "My  son,  maybe  the  Lord  is  calling  you  to  preach.1' 
And  she  related  the  story  of  Samuel,  and  continued :  "I  have 
been  watching  you  closely  and  I  have  been  impressed  that 
there  was  something  on  your  mind,  and  I  have  suspected 
more  than  once  that  God  was  dealing  specially  with  you." 

It  almost  appalled  me.  My  pulse  quickened  and  for  several 
moments  I  sat  in  silence.     I  had  suspected  as  much  myself, 


My  Conversion  and  Call  to  the  Ministry  99 

but  concluded  time  and  again  that  it  was  my  imagination,  for 
such  a  thing  looked  almost  absurd  to  me. 

I  would  not  allow  myself  to  think  of  those  peculiar  experi- 
ences only  for  the  time  being  and  then  dismiss  them.  But  n»w 
mother  had  interpreted  them  to  me,  and  the  earnestness  of 
her  words  and  her  manner  had  driven  the  idea  into  the  very 
depths  of  my  soul.  The  realization  alarmed  me.  How  could 
it  be  true?  I  was  only  an  ignorant  boy,  had  not  been  to 
school  since  the  death  of  my  father,  and  there  was  not  the 
slightest  prospect  for  my  being  able  to  go  to  school.  To 
think  of  being  called  to  preach,  in  view  of  the  facts  in  my 
case,  was  more  than  I  could  make  myself  believe  to  be  true. 

Finally  I  opened  up  my  heart  to  mother  and  admitted  to  her 
that  I  was  afraid  she  had  properly  sized  up  the  situation. 
But  how  in  the  world  could  I  think  of  entering  the  ministry? 
I  not  only  had  no  education  and  no  hope  of  being  able  to  go 
to  school,  but  that  she  needed  every  day  of  my  toil  in  order 
to  help  the  family  to  live.  She  looked  at  me  rather  plead- 
ingly and  said:  "My  son,  if  God  has  called  you  to  the 
ministry  he  will  surely  provide  a  way  for  you  to  prepare  for  it. 
You  go  along  and  do  your  duty,  doubting  nothing,  and  do  not 
resist  him.  Be  prayerful  and  obedient  and  watch  the  openings 
of  Providence.  He  will  be  sure  to  work  it  out  for  you  in 
some  way." 

That  was  just  like  mother,  for  she  never  doubted.  Her  faith 
was  of  that  simple  and  tenacious  kind.  It  was  absolutely 
childlike.  With  that  conversation  ringing  in  my  ears  and  her 
sublime  faith  standing  out  before  me  I  retired  that  night  and 
did  some  of  the  most  anxious  thinking  of  my  life.  All  those 
strange  sensations  and  mysterious  thoughts  that  had  troubled 
me  for  months  rushed  in  upon  me  and  almost  staggered  me 
with  their  directness.    They  took  on  the  form  of  a  command, 


ioo  The  Story  of  My  Life 

and  I  settled  down  in  the  firm  belief  that  God  wanted  me  to 
preach.  It  was  not  long  until  all  doubt  was  gone  and  the 
matter  was  settled.  But  I  kept  those  things  in  my  own  heart 
and  told  them  to  no  one  but  mother  and  the  good  Father 
above,  whom  I  was  trusting  implicitly.  I  did  not  think  it  best 
to  say  anything  to  the  Church  about  them,  not  even  to  my 
preacher.  It  would  be  time  enough  to  do  this  when  Provi- 
dence cleared  up  the  way  and  made  it  possible  for  me  to  make 
$:>me  preparation  for  so  stupendous  a  calling.  If  it  should 
turn  out  that  no  way  was  opened  up  before  me,  then  the 
responsibility  would  not  be  mine,  and  the  whole  matter  could 
drop  without  any  fault  of  my  own.  That  part  of  it  was  God's 
and  I  was  determined  to  do  my  best  and  let  him  take  care  of 
the  impossible.  That  was  mother's  advice,  and  I  was  sure 
that  she  knew  what  was  best;  and  right  there  I  determined 
to  rest  my  whole  case.  Then  a  hallowed  peace  came  into  my 
heart.  My  mipd  had  surcease  from  anxiety  and  solicitude. 
The  battle  had  been  fought  and  the  victory  had  been  won. 
It  was  a  happy  moment  with  me. 


Chapter  VIII 

An  Unlooked-For  Providential 
Opening 

My  brother  and  myself  put  in  our  first  crop  in  Georgia  the 
next  spring  and  it  grew  off  well.  That  hillside  land  was  not 
fertile  like  the  Tennessee  bottom  land  I  had  been  used  to,  but 
with  proper  care  it  did  very  well.  We  gave  it  earnest  atten- 
tion and  kept  it  well  cultivated.  As  the  summer  approached 
the  cotton,  the  corn  and  the  cowpeas  looked  flourishing,  and 
we  were  gratified.  Nothing  pleased  me  more  than  to  see  the 
fruits  of  my  industry  responding  to  my  generous  toil. 

It  made  my  heart  swell  with  becoming  gratitude,  for  there 
was  not  a  lazy  bone  in  my  body.  I  had  developed  into  a 
strong  and  robust  fellow  and  felt  that  I  was  almost  equal  ta 
any  man's  task.  We  were  up  early,  and  with  the  rising  of 
the  sun  we  were  in  the  field  with  plow  and  hoe  and  from  the 
dawn  till  the  noon  hour  we  lost  no  time.  Ah  hour  for  dinner 
and  we  were  back  until  eventide,  and  then  when  night  came 
on  we  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just  and  found  refreshment.  My, 
what  an  appetite  we  enjoyed,  and  everything  that  mother 
cooked  we  relished  and  appropriated  with  keen  pleasure !  We 
had  no  luxuries,  but  we  lacked  nothing  in  the  w&y  of 
substantials. 

There  was  an  old  gentleman  living  a  mile  from  us  who 
taught  a  three  months'  primary  school,  and  my  sister  attended 


102  The  Story  of  My  Life 

it.  His  name  was  White,  and  he  was  a  good  school  teacher 
for  children.  At  the  close  of  that  school,  toward  the  last  of 
June,  there  was  an  exhibition  in  which  the  children  were  made 
to  show  off  their  proficiency  and  their  parents  (mostly  their 
mothers)  went  out  to  encourage  the  little  people.  My  mother 
went  over  and  when  the  exercises  were  completed  she  hurried 
back  home  in  order  to  have  dinner  ready  for  us.  While  at 
the  stable  feeding  the  mule  I  heard  her  voice  in  song  as  she 
was  busying  herself  about  the  noon  meal.  But  this  was  noth- 
ing unusual,  for  she  often  sang  the  songs  of  Zion  as  her 
hands  were  engaged  in  her  daily  tasks. 

When  I  stepped  into  the  kitchen  her  face  was  all  aglow, 
and  she  turned  to  me  and  said :  "My  son,  I  am  very  happy 
to-day.  I  have  found  out  how  you  can  go  to  school,  and  as 
sure  as  you  are  born  Providence  has  made  the  opening.  I 
felt  all  the  time  that  he  would  do  it,  but  it  has  come  sooner 
and  in  a  way  I  did  not  expect.  But  he  is  always  better  to  us 
than  our  fears  and  his  mercies  often  astonish  us.  Sit  down 
to  dinner  and  I  will  tell  you  the  good  news.  It  is  too  good 
to  be  true,  but  I  believe  it  is  true  and  you  will  agree  with  me 
when  I  have  told  you.  I  have  always  trusted  God  and  he 
has  never  disappointed  me.  He  has  often  led  me  along  ways 
that  I  would  not  have  chosen,  and  he  has  brought  many 
experiences  to  me  not  according  to  my  liking,  but  he  has 
never  failed  to  make  good  in  the  end.  All  we  have  to  do  is 
to  render  him  our  best  service  and  then  follow  wherever  he 
leads.  He  will  take  care  of  the  result.  It  is  wonderful  how 
he  answers  my  prayers.  He  does  not  always  answer  them 
in  the  way  I  pray  them,  but  he  does  answer  them  in  his  own 
time  and  in  his  own  way." 

As  we  proceeded  with  the  meal  she  related  to  me  the  newly- 
discovered  plan  by  which  the  way  was  to  be  opened  for  me 


An  Unlooked-For  Providential  Opening  103 

to  go  to  school.  I  will  let  her  tell  it  in  her  own  simple  way: 
"I  went  over  to  Mr.  White's  school  to  hear  your  sister 
recite  and  to  come  back  with  her.  The  schoolhouse  was  about 
full  of  people.  When  everything  was  over  Mr.  White  said 
that  he  was  glad  to  say  there  was  present  that  morning  a 
famous  teacher  from  Bradley  County,  Tennessee;  that  he 
was  visiting  Mr  Brewer's  family,  for  Mr.  Brewer  years 
before  had  been  one  of  his  students;  and  he  was  sure  that 
the  people  present  would  be  glad  to  hear  from  Professor  M. 
H.  B.  Burkett. 

"The  old  man  arose  and  made  one  of  the  best  speeches  I 
ever  heard.  He  spoke  on  education ;  told  what  it  was  and  how 
it  could  be  gotten.  He  said  that  it  did  not  always  take  money 
to  go  to  school.  If  a  boy  had  some  money  it  was  well  and 
good,  but  that  if  he  was  industrious  and  honest  and  truthful 
it  was  better.  The  boy  who  was  not  educated  would  always 
spend  his  life  as  a  drawer  of  water  and  a  hewer  of  wood  for 
other  people.  It  was  the  educated  man  who  knew  how  to  be 
independent  and  to  plan  and  to  think  for  himself.  And  that 
the  time  had  come  when  any  boy  who  was  any  account  would 
have  to  educate  himself.  I  was  following  him  with  all  my 
heart,  for  I  thought  something  would  turn  up  for  your  good, 
He  said  all  that  anybody  needed  to  get  an  education,  if  he  had 
no  money,  was  grit  and  determinaton.  If  he  knew  how  to 
work  and  was  willing  the  way  was  open. 

"Right  then  I  thought  of  you,  and  I  knew  that  you  had 
those  gifts.  I  could  hardly  wait  for  him  to  go  on  and  explain 
fully  what  he  was  driving  at.  And  he  said  that  he  had  a 
good  academy  in  Bradley  County,  Tennessee,  some  thirty- 
five  miles  from  there,  out  on  a  farm,  and  that  he  always  took 
two  or  three  boys  every  year  and  let  them  work  their  way 
and  go  to  school  to  him.     He  pointed  to  Mr.  Brewer  and 


104  The  Story  of  My  Life 

said  that  was  the  way  Sam  did  and  he  has  made  a  pretty 
good  sort  of  a  man.  Then  he  concluded  by  saying  that  if 
any  of  us  knew  a  good,  hard-working,  honest  boy  in  that 
community  who  would  be  willing  to  go  to  his  place  next  fall 
and  work  his  way  through  school,  to  send  him  up  there  and 
he  would  see  him  through. 

"My  heart  liked  to  have  jumped  out  of  my  mouth.  I  said 
to  myself,  I  know  that  boy  and  he  will  sure  be  in  that  school 
when  it  begins  the  next  time.  I  did  not  stop  to  speak  to  him, 
for  he  did  not  know  me;  but  I  rushed  out  and  hastened  home 
to  have  dinner  ready  for  you  and  to  tell  you  what  I  had  heard. 
It  is  glorious!" 

By  the  time  she  had  finished  I  was  as  much  excited  as  she 
was.  For  a  year  I  had  felt  those  stirrings  of  heart,  but  I  was 
like  a  helpless  bird  beating  its  wings  fruitlessly  against  the 
bars  trying  to  gain  its  liberty.  In  other  words,  there  was 
looming  up  before  me  during  those  anxious  months  a  stone 
wall  too  high  to  scale  and  too  dense  to  break  through.  Every 
time  I  would  go  up  against  it  I  would  fall  back  helpless  upon 
my  own  impotence  and  settle  down  almost  in  despair.  There 
was  no  opening  in  it  for  me. 

Day  and  night  it  stood  there  to  vex  me  and  prevent  any 
progress.  How  my  heart  had  cried  out  for  help  to  break 
through  it,  or  for  some  strong  arm  to  lift  me  over  its  frowning 
heights.  But  no  help  had  come  and  no  strong  arm  had 
gotten  underneath  me.  But  at  last  I  thought  I  saw  a  rent  in 
that  impassable  wall.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  light  at  last 
was  breaking  through  it,  and  that  there  was  the  touch  of  an 
unseen  hand  to  strengthen  me  for  the  task  of  passing  it.  Or, 
to  revert  to  my  other  figure  of  speech,  though  my  wings  felt 
sore  from  their  helpless  blows  against  the  bars  of  the  cage, 
now  those  bars  were  pressing  apart,  and  just  on  the  outside 


An  Unlooked-For  Providential  Opening  105 

I  saw  the  beauties  of  the  flowers  and  felt  the  inspiration  of 
coming  liberty.  I  was  almost  ready  to  fly!  My  spirit  was  as 
light  as  a  feather. 

That  afternoon  as  I  followed  the  plow  I  thought  and 
thought  over  that  wonderful  story  related  at  the  dinner  table 
by  mother.  It  took  complete  possession  of  me.  It  ran 
through  my  mind  like  the  music  of  song.  By  and  by  the 
other  side  of  it  began  to  appeal  to  me.  I  wondered  if  it  were 
possible  that  mother,  in  her  gladness,  had  not  misunderstood 
the  old  man,  and  why  did  she  not  go  up  to  him  and  tell  him 
about  me  and  get  more  of  the  facts  in  detail.  Then  again  I 
thought  if  he  does  take  two  or  three  boys  a  term  and  let 
them  work  their  way  through,  maybe  he  will  find  them  long 
before  he  can  hear  from  me,  and  after  all  it  may  be  a  dream. 

Furthermore,  how  could  a  boy  without  a  cent  of  money  go 
to  a  stranger  and  ask  to  be  permitted  to  accept  his  conditions? 
Surely  such  a  boy  will  have  to  have  a  little  money  for  books, 
provision  and  tuition.  I  had  none  and  he  never  heard  tell 
of  me,  and  I  did  not  know  his  address.  So  my  heart  began 
to  oscillate  between  hope  and  despair.  Yet  there  was  a  possi- 
bility in  the  hope  and  this  encouraged  me.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  even  a  possibility  had  presented  itself  to  me.  So  I 
resolved  that  I  would  see  what  there  was  in  it. 

That  night  mother  went  over  the  whole  field  of  that  possi- 
bility with  me.  She  was  actually  enthusiastic  and  she  com- 
municated some  of  her  spirit  to  me.  She  swept  all  my  mis- 
givings out  of  the  way,  even  the  need  that  she  had  for  me 
to  make  the  living.  She  said  by  the  first  of  September  a 
good  part  of  the  crop  would  be  gathered,  and  my  brother 
and  herself  would  attend  to  the  rest  of  it.  "Your  uncle  will 
give  us  some  assistance,  and  next  year  we  can  find  somebody 
to  go  in  with  us;  and  Thomas"  (that  was  my  brother's  name) 


106  The  Story  of  My  Life 

"now  understands  work  as  well  as  you  did  back  in  Tennessee. 
Oh,  we  will  get  along!  So  we  will  just  work  to  that  end  and 
when  September  comes  everything  will  be  ready  for  you  to  go 
to  that  school."  She  made  me  see  it  that  way,  and  it  was  late 
that  night  before  I  closed  my  eyes  in  sleep. 

A  few  Sunday  afternoons  later  I  dropped  over  to  Mr. 
Brewer's  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him  about  Mr.  Burkett  and 
his  school.  It  had  been  some  years  since  he  had  been  under 
him,  but  he  felt  confident  that  I  could  win  my  way  in  his 
school.  I  told  him  nothing  about  my  call  to  the  ministry. 
That  was  a  secret  known  to  me  and  mother  and  God.  I 
learned  that  the  old  gentleman  was  a  local  preacher  in  the 
Northern  Methodist  Church,  and  I  asked  Mr.  Brewer  if  that 
would  make  any  difference  in  my  case.  He  did  not  think  so. 
He  advised  me  to  make  all  my  plans  during  the  next  two 
months  so  that  my  brother  could  finish  up  the  crop,  and  that 
when  I  got  ready  to  go  to  come  over  and  he  would  give  me 
a  letter  of  introduction  and  commendation  to  the  old  professor. 

That  interview  determined  the  question  of  my  going  to  that 
school.  It  settled  it  once  and  for  all  as  far  as  I  was  concerned. 
It  was  no  longer  an  open  question.  It  was  the  hand  of  Provi- 
dence leading  me  and  I  was  resolved  to  follow  that  leading. 
If  there  was  any  failure  to  develop  it  would  not  be  upon  my 
part.  And  this  was  mother's  view  of  it  from  the  moment  she 
heard  his  speech.  The  whole  thing  was  as  clear  to  her  mind 
as  the  noonday  sun.  It  was  already  a  crystallized  fact  in  her 
mind,  and  in  that  way  and  with  that  sort  of  faith  she  dis- 
cussed it. 

The  two  summer  months  sped  by  and  the  cotton  crop  was 
made  and  partially  gathered.  The  corn  was  about  matured 
and  its  gathering  provided  for.  Plans  for  the  next  year  were 
in  contemplation  and  the  arrangement  was  satisfactory.     The 


An  Unlooked-For  Providential  Opening  107 

long-looked-for  month  of  September  approached,  a  date  big 
with  meaning  for  me. 

So  one  beautiful  morning  before  good  daylight  I  had  tola1 
mother  and  my  brother  and  sister  good-bye  and,  with  a  well- 
filled  satchel  thrown  across  my  shoulder,  I  was  on  my  way  to 
"Student's  Home",  the  name  of  Professor  Burkett's  school. 

The  distance  was  about  thirty-five  miles,  but  what  was  that 
to  a  strong,  determined  country  boy  nearly  eighteen  years  old 
and  weighing  one  hundred  and  forty-nine  pounds !  It  was 
mere  moonshine.  The  day  was  a  long  one  and  by  sunup  I 
was  well  on  my  journey.  I  did  not  have  a  cent  of  money  in 
my  pocket,  never  had  seen  Professor  Burkett  and  he  had 
never  heard  tell  of  me,  yet  I  was  measuring  off  tracks  in  a 
rapid  way  toward  his  school. 

As  I  trudged  along  through  the  dust  of  the  road  I  had 
ample  time  for  thinking,  and  I  thought  very  seriously.  Would 
the  old  man  take  me  in  my  penniless  condition  and  give  me  a 
chance?  Now  and  then  a  fear  would  force  itself  upon  me 
and  I  would  become  nervous.  What  would  I  say  to  him  when 
I  approached  him  ?  Thus  I  developed  my  line  of  remarks  to 
him.  I  went  over  my  speech  time  and  again  until  I  had  it 
down  pat.    I  knew  exactly  what  I  was  going  to  say  to  him. 

About  this  time  I  was  standing  on  the  bank  of  the  river  that 
crossed  the  road  twelve  miles  from  home  and  it  looked  rather 
formidable.  There  was  a  farmhouse  not  far  away  and  I  had 
some  distant  acquaintance  with  the  people  and  they  had  a  boat 
and  a  canoe  tied  with  a  chain  to  a  tree.  But  they  charged  to 
put  people  across,  and  I  had  no  money.  The  stream  was  a 
beautiful  one,  clear  and  inviting.  What  a  place  for  fishing 
and  bathing!  But  I  was  not  out  on  a  fishing  expedition,  nor 
for  bathing  purposes.  I  wanted  to  get  myself  on  the  opposite 
side  as  quickly  as  possible.     I  was  not  going  to  make  known 


io8  The  Story  of  My  Life 

my  poverty  to  the  owners  of  the  boats,  and  the  river  was  deep 
at  that  point.  So  I  started  upstream  to  see  if  I  could  not  find 
a  shallow  place,  and  about  half  a  mile  I  made  the  discovery. 
There  was  nobody  in  sight  so  I  got  on  the  outside  of  my 
homespun  and,  with  my  clothes  and  satchel  across  my  shoul- 
der, I  waded  in  and  was  soon  on  the  other  side.  I  lost  a  little 
time  in  the  operation,  but  it  was  not  long  until  I  regained  the 
road  and  struck  my  old  gait.  The  road  was  a  direct  one  and 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  in  the  right  way.  The  noon  was 
past  and  I  was  beyond  the  halfway  mark  by  several  miles. 

Within  an  hour  of  sundown  I  stood  on  a  hillcrest  and  looked 
down  upon  a  beautiful  valley.  The  view  was  enchanting. 
The  landscape  stretched  out  for  three  or  four  miles  beyond 
me  and  the  undulating  foothills  in  the  distance  were  throwing 
their  lengthening  shadows  back  in  my  direction.  The  listless- 
ness  of  a  rural  haze  threw  its  weird  effect  upon  the  scene, 
while  far  away  a  railway  train  was  speeding  along,  leaving  a 
trail  of  smoke  in  its  wake. 

About  that  time  a  man  rode  up  from  the  opposite  direction 
and  I  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  me  the  location  of  Professor 
Burkett's  school.  He  pointed  off  toward  a  clump  of  trees 
some  two  miles  further  down  the  valley  and  said  it  was  just 
beyond  them.  It  was  not  long  until  I  was  standing  at  his  gate 
about  fifty  yards  below  his  dwelling  and  his  school  building. 
A  young  man  standing  near  by  told  me  to  come  in,  but  I 
requested  him  to  ask  the  old  teacher  to  come  down ;  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  old  gentleman  emerged  from  his  door 
and  came  hurriedly  down  toward  where  I  was  standing.  He 
was  a  man  of  medium  height,  quite  fleshy,  a  little  stooped 
from  age  and  habits  of  study,  had  a  big  head  covered  with 
straggling  gray  hair  and  a  long  white  beard.    He  wore  glasses 


/ 


\  ■ 


PROF.  M.  H.  B.  BURKETT 


An  Unlooked-For  Providential  Opening  109 

and  his  manner  was  nervous  and  his  speech  jerky  and  rather 
abrupt.  His  clothing  was  not  the  most  tidy  and  he  wore  a 
long  linen  duster.  He  eyed  me  closely,  and  no  wonder!  My 
suit  of  clothing  was  crude,  my  coat  fit  me  tightly,  my  trousers 
struck  me  above  my  shoetops,  my  feet  were  large  and  incased 
in  brogans,  my  hair  was  rather  long,  my  hands  and  face  burned 
as  brown  as  a  mummy's  and  my  manners  were  rural  to  the 
last  degree.  I  was  in  great  contrast  to  himself  and  he  took 
me  in  at  a  glance  from  head  to  foot.  I  found  myself  very 
much  embarrassed  before  I  opened  my  mouth.  I  suppose  it 
was  only  a  moment  that  he  looked  at  me  and  I  at  him,  though 
it  seemed  like  five  or  ten  minutes. 

"Burkett  is  my  name;  what  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?"  were 
the  first  words  he  blurted  out  at  me.  I  replied :  "Mr.  Burkett, 
my  name  is  Rankin.  I  live  in  Murray  County,  Georgia,  in 
the  neighborhood  where  you  visited  Mr.  Brewer  two  months 
ago  My  mother  is  a  widow.  She  heard  your  speech  at  the 
schoolhouse  that  day  when  you  said  that  if  a  poor  boy  who 
knew  how  to  work  and  was  willing  wanted  an  education 
you  would  let  him  work  his  way  through  your  school.  Now 
I  am  here  without  money,  but  I  am  used  to  work  and  I  want 
to  go  to  school.    What  can  you  do  for  me?" 

He  looked  me  over  again  and  the  following  dialogue  ensued : 

"You  say  you  live  near  Sam  Brewer's  where  I  visited  awhile 
back?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  have  a  recommendation  from  him.  Here 
it  is." 

He  read  it  and  looked  at  me  severely. 

"Sam  Brewer  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  he  speaks  very  kindly 
of  you.    Have  you  no  money  at  all?" 

"No,  sir;  not  a  dime." 

"And  you  want  to  go  to  school?" 


no  The  Story  of  My  Life 

"Yes,  sir;  that  is  what  I'm  here  for." 

'"'Do  you  curse?" 

"No,  sir;  I  never  swore  an  oath  in  my  life." 

"Do  you  chew  tobacco?" 

"No,  sir;  I  never  learned  how." 

"Do  you  smoke?" 

"No,  sir;  I  do  not  know  its  taste." 

"Do  you  play  cards?" 

"No,  sir;  I  don't  know  one  from  another." 

"Do  you  know  how  to  work  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.    Look  at  these  hands.    That's  all  I  do  know." 

"What  can  you  do?" 

"I  can  do  anything  on  the  farm.  I  can  break  ground;  I 
can  lay  a  fence-worm ;  I  can  plant  and  plow ;  I  can  dig  ditches 
and  chop  wood ;  I  can  cradle  wheat  and  oats.  I  can  do  any- 
thing of  that  kind  that  you  want  done." 

"And  you  are  willing  to  work  your  way  through?" 

"Yes,  sir.  It  is  the  desire  of  my  heart  to  go  to  school  and 
that's  the  only  way  I  can  go." 

"Are  you  a  member  of  any  Church?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  am  a  member  of  the  Methodist  Church." 

"And  your  mother  heard  that  speech?" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  she  went  home  and  told  me  all  about  it. 
That's  the  way  I  found  out  about  you." 

"Well,  I  do  not  remember  meeting  her." 

"No,  sir;  she  did  not  introduce  herself  to  you.  She  just 
went  home  as  fast  as  she  could  to  tell  me." 

"Well,  come  in.    I  think  you  are  the  boy  I  am  looking  for." 

That  was  one  of  the  happiest  evenings  of  my  life.  I  could 
have  shouted  for  very  joy.  He  did  not  turn  me  away.  He 
was  willing  to  give  me  a  chance.  My  heart  overflowed  with 
gratitude.    I  felt  like  I  was  walking  on  thin  air.    The  desire 


An  Unhoked-For  Providential  Opening  in 

of  my  life  was  to  be  gratified.  I  was  actually  going  to  get 
to  go  to  school.  I  was  nearly  swept  away  with  my  emotions, 
and  I  was  never  very  emotional.  But  that  was  too  much 
for  me.    It  touched  the  great  deep  of  my  nature. 

I  entered  the  old  gentleman's  home  and  deposited  my  bag- 
gage, bathed  my  face  and  hands  and  was  invited  out  to  supper. 
Just  he  and  his  wife  and  one  daughter,  about  sixteen  years 
of  age,  constituted  his  family  at  that  time.  His  wife  was  a 
pale,  delicate  woman,  with  an  incipient  cancer  on  her  face. 
She  was  gentle  and  uniform  in  her  nature  and  quiet  in  her 
speech,  just  the  opposite  from  her  husband.  He  was  the  most 
excitable  and  blustery  old  man  I  ever  knew.  She  was  a  sort 
of  balance-wheel  to  him,  but  she  did  not  always  balance  him. 
The  daughter's  name  was  Nettie,  and  she  was  a  cross  between 
her  father  and  mother,  rather  good  looking  and  richly 
endowed. 

During  the  meal  the  old  gentleman  asked  me  a  great  many 
more  questions  and  seemed  bent  on  finding  out  everything 
possible  about  me.  I  frankly  told  him  all  I  knew  about  my- 
self. I  concealed  nothing.  After  supper  I  felt  like  I  knew 
him  fairly  well,  and  he  certainly  knew  me. 

It  was  a  beautiful  night.  The  stars  came  out  and  bedecked 
the  heavens,  and  the  moon  threw  her  silvery  light  down  upon 
the  earth,  making  it  almost  as  light  as  day.  The  old  gentle- 
man invited  me  out  for  a  walk.  He  took  me  all  over  his  farm 
and  told  me  all  about  how  he  wanted  work  done,  and  I  scrupu- 
lously took  in  and  remembered  all  that  he  said.  I  was  bent 
on  pleasing  him.  When  we  went  back  to  the  house  and 
were  seated  on  the  front  porch  he  told  me  what  he  would  do; 
that  he  would  let  me  have  a  shack  of  a  dormitory,  a  sort  of 
one-room  house  with  simple  furniture  in  it,  all  for  a  dollar 
per  month.     That  I  could  occupy  it,  do  my  own  cooking  and 


H2  The  Story  of  My  Life 

he  would  furnish  me  with  work.  I  could  work  usually  two 
hours  in  the  morning,  an  hour  at  noon  and  two  hours  in  the 
evening,  and  that  he  would  allow  me  ten  cents  an  hour,  and 
that  would  be  fifty  cents  per  day.  On  Saturday  I  could  work 
all  day  and  make  a  dollar  and  a  half,  and  he  would  let  me 
have  provisions  and  books  and  tuition  at  a  reasonable  price, 
and  in  that  way  go  to  school.  He  wanted  to  know  if  I  was 
willing  to  undertake  the  enterprise  on  those  terms.  I  replied 
that  I  most  certainly  was  ready,  and  that  I  would  go  to  work 
the  next  morning  and  be  ready  for  school  by  the  time  it 
opened  at  nine  o'clock.     Thus  we  made  the  agreement. 

I  knew  that  I  could  live,  pay  for  my  books  and  my  tuition 
at  four  dollars  and  a  half  per  week  without  much  trouble,  but 
if  I  fell  short  at  the  end  of  some  month  I  could  drop  out  a 
day  now  and  then  and  make  it  up;  and  in  vacation  I  could 
get  a  little  ahead.  The  whole  thing  looked  mighty  good  to  me. 
I  went  over  to  my  shack  near  a  number  of  others  already 
occupied  by  boys  in  school  and  I  tumbled  into  the  rude  bunk 
the  most  delighted  eighteen-year-old  chap  in  all  that  school.  I 
slept  through  without  waking,  for  I  was  tired. 

At  four  o'clock  the  next  morning  I  heard  his  bugle  sound 
for  rising.  I  soon  found  out  that  this  was  one  of  the  in- 
flexible rules.  Every  boy  had  to  rise  at  that  hour  and  put  in 
good  time  on  his  books.  He  had  an  idea  that  the  early  hour 
was  the  best  part  of  the  day  for  study,  and  he  was  correct. 
I  had  no  books,  so  I  cleaned  up  my  house,  cooked  a  meager 
breakfast  and  by  daylight  was  at  the  barn  feeding  and  curry- 
ing his  horse  and  milking  his  cow.  Then  I  lit  into  the  wood- 
pile and  made  the  sound  of  the  axe  ring  out  on  the  air.  Before 
school  opened  I  had  more  than  two  hours  to  my  credit. 

There  were  two  other  boys  there  working  their  way 
through  also,  but  they  had  other  jobs.     All  the  others,  more 


An  Unlooked-For  Providential  Opening  113 

than  seventy-five  in  number,  were  more  fortunate,  but  they 
had  the  utmost  respect  for  the  three  of  us  who  had  to  work. 
He  required  this,  even  if  they  had  been  otherwise  inclined. 
He  had  a  large  number  of  girls,  and  they  had  comfortable 
accommodations.  But  he  allowed  no  communication  between 
the  sexes  except  in  the  schoolroom  and  in  his  presence.  He 
was  the  strictest  disciplinarian  I  have  ever  known.  He  was 
almost  a  fanatic  on  the  question.  He  would  brook  no  infrac- 
tion of  his  rules.  They  were  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and 
Persians ;  they  were  to  be  obeyed  in  the  spirit  and  in  the  letter. 
To  wantonly  violate  one  of  them  was  to  incur  the  displeasure 
of  a  man  of  iron  will  and  ferocious  temper  when  once  pro- 
voked. He  was  positively  savage  when  disobedience  was 
proven.  If  the  offender  was  too  large  for  punishment  he  had 
to  leave  the  school  without  any  respect  to  the  order  of  his 
going,  but  if  under  size  and  age  the  strap  was  put  to  him 
with  strength  and  vigor. 

Professor  Burkett  was  a  self-made  man.  He  had  never 
been  to  college  and  his  advantage  in  any  sort  of  school  in  his 
early  life  was  of  the  simplest  sort.  He  took  to  teaching  be- 
cause he  loved  it,  and  he  learned  as  he  taught.  He  was  not 
technically  an  educated  man,  neither  was  he  systematically 
trained  in  his  habits  of  thought  and  study.  He  had  acquired 
all  that  he  knew  through  main  strength  and  awkwardness. 
Hence  he  was  lacking  in  those  elements  of  refinement  and 
culture  that  go  to  finish  the  character  of  the  really  educated 
man.  He  was  a  stranger  to  self-poise  and  self-control.  His 
will  was  imperious,  and  his  manners  brusque  and  at  times  rude. 
He  was  a  bundle  of  impulses  and  sometimes  these  would  play 
havoc  with  his  judgment.  Physically  he  was  large,  rotund 
and  muscular,  and  in  his  younger  days  he  was  evidently  a 
man  hard  to  meet  in  a  contest  of  strength.    Age  had  weakened 


U4  The  Story  of  My  Life 

his  physical  powers,  but  not  his  will  and  his  impulsiveness, 
On  the  contrary,  he  had  become  more  of  an  autocrat,  and  re- 
sistance very  nearly  set  him  wild.  He  simply  ruled  his  schoo? 
with  a  rod  of  iron. 

Yet  the  old  Professor,  in  his  equipment,  was  practically  an 
educated  man.  He  was  by  nature  richly  endowed;  he  had  a 
big  brain,  quick  perception,  a  prodigious  memory  and  great 
driving  powers.  He  had  mastered,  in  his  way,  all  the  branches 
of  an  English  education,  had  gone  into  mathematics  as  far  as 
trigonometry,  and  he  had  acquired  a  working  knowledge  of 
the  rudiments  of  Greek  and  Latin.  He  literally  prided  him- 
self in  English  grammar.  Hence  his  course  of  study  was 
substantial;  and  with  all  his  incongruities  he  was  a  man  of 
kind  heart  and  tender  sensibilities.  When  at  his  best  he  was  a 
pleasant  man  to  deal  with.  When  once  you  understood  him 
and  learned  how  to  cultivate  his  weak  points,  it  was  not  a 
difficult  matter  to  get  along  with  him.  For  he  was  vain  and 
egotistical,  and  from  this  side  of  his  complex  nature  he  was 
very  accessible.  Therefore  I  was  not  long  in  understanding 
him,  and  I  had  but  little  trouble  in  my  efforts  to  manage  him. 
I  found  out  exactly  how  to  get  into  his  good  graces  and 
through  this  medium  I  cultivated  him  most  assiduously. 

The  school  was  a  revelation  to  me.  There  was  nothing  of 
the  old  field  type  about  it.  In  a  large  measure  it  was  up-to- 
date  and  furnished  with  all  the  modern  appliances.  He  had  a 
fairly  good  cabinet  of  minerals  and  a  very  good  elementar) 
laboratory.  He  had  charts  of  every  description;  grammai 
charts,  anatomy  charts,  geology  charts  and  a  large  array  of 
geography  maps.  He  had  good  desks  and  seats,  classrooms 
and  a  large  chapel  for  public  exercises.  It  was  a  good,  prac- 
tical school.  When  his  classes  were  overly  large  he  had  "an 
assistant  teacher  or  teachers.     He  knew  the  art  of  teaching 


An  Unlooked-For  Providential  Opening  115 

and  the  best  methods  for  making  pupils  study.  They  simply 
had  to  study.  He  was  in  deed  and  in  truth  a  schoolmaster. 
No  other  term  was  applicable  to  him. 

After  my  first  morning's  work  was  done  the  bell  rang  and 
the  students  marched  in  with  the  promptness  and  regularity 
of  soldiers.  There  was  no  semblance  of  confusion.  It  was 
like  clockwork.  When  they  were  all  seated  the  old  Professor, 
with  authoritative  manner,  took  his  place  on  the  platform. 
He  had  his  secretary  to  call  the  roll.  He  then  read  a  chapter 
from  the  Bible,  announced  a  hymn  and  it  was  sung  with  zest 
and  in  good  time.  H!e  led  in  a  stately  prayer.  After  that 
he  announced,  or  rather  repeated,  a  few  simple  rules  for  the 
government  of  the  school,  tapped  the  bell  and  the  classes,  with 
that  same  order,  repaired  to  their  respective  places. 

I  sat  there  taking  in  the  proceedings,  for  he  had  not  given 
me  a  book  or  put  me  in  a  class.  I  was  simply  a  spectator. 
I  put  in  the  remainder  of  the  school  hours  in  that  way.  I 
learned  afterward  that  he  wanted  me  to  see  the  way  things 
were  done  before  he  put  me  to  doing  them.  So  after  the 
school  hours  were  over  he  took  me  into  his  room,  handed  me 
my  books  and  told  me  the  classes  to  which  I  was  assigned. 
One  was  Emerson's  Mental  Arithmetic;  another  one  was 
Comstock's  Natural  Philosophy,  and  still  another  one  was 
Clark's  Grammar.  There  was  a  reader,  a  speller  and  a  geogra- 
phy, but  these  were  not  formidable.  The  former  three  staggered 
me.  Mental  arithmetic  bewildered  me,  and  as  to  that  book 
on  philosophy,  I  looked  at  it  in  amazement.  Clark's  Grammar 
was  a  Chinese  puzzle  to  me.  It  was  a  diagram  system.  I 
glanced  at  these  books  on  my  way  to  my  shack  and  I  saw 
that  I  had  work  to  do. 

After  a  simple  meal  of  my  own  preparing  I  lighted  a  dingy 
lamp  and  tackled  that  arithmetic.    The  more  I  tried  to  analyze 


n6  The  Story  of  My  Life 

its  problems  the  less  sense  I  could  see  in  them.  I  laid  it  down 
and  picked  up  Comstock.  It  was  the  first  book  of  the  kind 
I  had  ever  seen,  and  it  was  a  mystery  to  me.  But  when  I 
opened  that  book  on  grammar  I  simply  shook  my  head  and 
laid  it  down.  Yet  that  grammar,  with  its  system  of  diagrams, 
was  the  pride  of  my  old  teacher.  He  knew  the  whole  of  it 
memoriter,  as  I  afterwards  learned.  But  to  me  it  was  without 
meaning.  I  thought  over  the  situation  and  became  discour- 
aged, and  my  mind  wandered  over  creation.  I  could  not  fix 
it  on  anything.  I  walked  out  and  got  a  little  fresh  air  and 
then  returned  and  tumbled  into  my  bed.  I  knew  I  could 
sleep  if  I  could  not  do  anything  else. 


Chapter  IX 

Some  School  Experiences  at 
Student's  Home 

By  the  time  the  bugle  sounded  I  was  up  trying  to  work  on 
those  books,  but  my  mind  was  unable  to  comprehend  them. 
They  were  not  only  beyond  me,  but  worse  still,  I  did  not  know 
how  to  study.  I  had  not  been  trained  to  concentrate,  and  to 
think  consecutively  was  out  of  the  question.  For  more  than 
five  years  I  had  been  out  of  school,  and  while  I  had  kept  up 
some  general  reading,  and  had  gathered  a  good  degree  of 
general  information,  yet  I  was  a  stranger  to  the  student  habit 
and  life.  The  more  I  tried  to  understand  the  diagram  system 
of  that  grammar  the  more  it  confused  me,  and  that  mental 
arithmetic  was  a  stunner.  I  did  not  even  know  the  meaning 
of  the  word  philosophy. 

So  when  I  entered  the  schoolroom  the  next  morning  fear 
and  trembling  took  hold  of  me.  I  feared  the  old  Professor's 
displeasure  and  I  dreaded  the  exposure  of  my  ignorance  before 
the  class.  But  there  was  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  grit  my 
teeth  and  meet  the  issue.  By  and  by  the  grammar  class  to 
which  I  belonged  was  called  and,  to  my  surprise  and  chagrin, 
they  were  nearly  all  little  girls  from  twelve  to  fourteen  years 
of  age.  They  had  been  in  the  school  for  a  year  or  two  and 
their  memories  had  been  well  cultivated.  As  far  as  they  had 
gone  they  had  the  letter  of  the  book  down  fine. 


Ii8  The  Story  of  My  Life 

I  was  almost  a  man  in  size.  I  felt  like  a  crane  among  a 
flock  of  tomtits.  My  embarrassment  began  to  rise  to  fever 
heat.  The  questions  started  and  they  were  answered  promptly, 
and  then  came  my  turn.  The  old  gentleman  asked  me  to  take 
a  pointer  and  indicate  on  the  chart  hanging  on  the  wall  the 
location  of  a  substantive.  He  had  just  as  well  have  asked  me 
to  point  out  the  location  of  one  of  the  planets  in  the  solar 
system.  I  took  the  pointer  and  pointed  at  the  first  thing  on 
the  chart  that  loomed  up  before  me.  Strange  to  say,  not  a 
member  of  the  class  giggled  at  me.  My  confusion  became 
confounded.  Then  the  Professor  shouted  out:  "Rachel,  take 
that  pointer  from  the  greenhorn  and  show  him  that  part  of 
speech !"  She  made  the  effort,  but  she  was  not  high  enough 
to  reach  it,  and  then  he  commanded  me  to  lift  her  up  so  that 
she  could  reach  it.  I  obeyed,  but  none  but  myself  will  ever 
know  my  mortification. 

Following  this  was  arithmetic,  and  I  had  practically  the 
same  class,  and  just  about  the  same  embarrassment.  When 
the  philosophy  class  met  most  of  them  were  larger  and  I  felt 
a  trifle  more  at  ease,  but  before  the  lesson  was  over  I  was 
almost  gone  to  pieces.  I  imagined  that  I  was  an  object  of 
absolute  pity  in  the  eyes  of  the  members  of  that  class.  They 
seemed  to  be  sorry  for  my  embarrassment  and  my  backward- 
ness. That  experience  finished  up  my  first  effort  in  the  class- 
rooms that  day.  I  felt  positively  relieved  when  the  time  came 
for  me  to  go  to  the  barnlot  and  the  woodpile. 

When  the  sun  disappeared  I  repaired  to  my  dormitory  al- 
most overwhelmed  with  discouragement.  After  all  it  seemed 
to  me  that  my  school  prospect  was  dimmed,  and  I  almost 
doubted  my  ability  to  do  much  in  the  way  of  education.  It 
was  not  what  I  had  thought  and  the  gravity  of  my  situation 
was  appalling.     I  hastened  to  my  shack,  partook  of  a  light 


Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home         119 

repast,  closed  the  door,  lighted  my  lamp  and  began  to  wonder. 
The  more  I  dwelt  upon  the  experiences  of  the  day  the  deeper 
became  my  sense  of  humiliation  and  disgrace.  I  was  verj 
nearly  ready  to  give  up  in  despair. 

While  lost  in  these  unpleasant  reflections  there  was  the  noise 
of  approaching  footsteps  coming  in  my  direction  and  directly 
a  fierce  rap  on  the  door.  When  I  responded  the  door  opened 
and  in  came  Professor  Burkett !  His  very  presence  produced 
a  tremor  in  my  bosom.  My  first  thought  was  that  he  had 
come  over,  under  the  cover  of  night,  to  tell  me  that  I  had 
better  go  back  home.  But  instead  he  spoke  to  me  in  a  cheer- 
ful voice  and  asked  me  how  I  was  feeling. 

I  broke  down  and  almost  cried  as  I  told  him  the  state  of 
my  mind  and  heart.  He  laughed  heartily  and  said :  "Tut, 
tut,  tut !  Why  you  have  only  learned  the  very  lesson  I  wanted 
to  teach  you — a  lesson  that  all  inexperienced  youngsters  have 
to  learn  when  they  first  enter  my  school.  The  first  thing  1 
try  to  do  to  them  is  to  take  all  their  conceit  out  of  them. 
In  the  first  place  they  have  to  learn  that  they  know  posi- 
tively nothing,  and  usually  that  is  the  hardest  lesson  to  teach 
them.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  such  an  apt  student.  I  am 
hopeful  now  of  doing  something  for  you.  In  the  second  place 
they  have  to  learn  how  to  study,  and  to  acquire  this  lesson 
perfectly  is  also  a  very  difficult  task.  It  is  not  learned  in 
a  day  or  a  week  or  a  month.  It  takes  a  long  time  to  master 
it.  Now  I  see  you  have  learned  the  first  lesson  thoroughly 
and  much  sooner  than  I  had  suspected.  But  you  will  be 
much  longer  learning  the  second  one. 

"To  begin  with,  you  must  throw  aside  your  false  pride. 
You  think  you  disgraced  yourself  to-day  in  the  presence  of 
those  pupils  and  myself,  but  you  did  nothing  of  the  kind. 
They  had  a  similar  experience  when  they  began  with  me  and 


120  The  Story  of  My  Life 

they  understand  your  situation  thoroughly.  You  imagine  that 
I  expected  you  to  know  those  lessons,  but  you  are  mistaken. 
Had  you  been  able  to  master  them,  then  there  would  be  no 
necessity  for  you  to  come  to  my  school ;  but  because  you  do 
not  know  how  to  study  them  is  the  reason  you  are  here. 
Really  I  am  much  gratified  with  your  beginning,  and  I  now 
have  hopes  of  doing  something  for  you.  Cheer  up  and  take 
heart  and  you  will  soon  know  how  to  do  things.  Here  are  a 
couple  of  books ;  read  them  and  they  will  help  you  out.  They 
were  of  great  assistance  to  me  years  ago.  I  owe  much  to 
them.     Good-night." 

And  with  this  he  left  as  abruptly  as  he  had  come. 

After  that  interview  my  drooping  spirit  revived.  It  was  not 
long  until  I  began  to  examine  those  two  books,  One  of  them 
was  "Todd's  Student's  Manual"  and  the  other  one  was  "Watts 
On  the  Mind".  I  glanced  through  them,  and  the  former  at 
once  impressed  me.  It  was  an  inspiration  to  me.  It  con- 
tained the  very  principles  that  soon  discovered  myself  to  me, 
told  me  of  my  faculties  and  how  to  use  them  and  the  best 
methods  for  learning  how  to  study.  I  retired,  for  I  needed 
rest  after  my  day's  experience.  Bright  and  early  the  next 
morning  I  was  poring  over  my  geography  lesson  and  soon 
had  some  idea  of  it,  but  the  other  books  were  hard  for  me 
to  learn. 

When  school  opened  I  was  on  hand.  I  listened  attentively 
to  the  morning  lecture,  and  when  my  classes  one  by  one  were 
called  I  took  my  seat  as  before,  but  just  about  as  little  pre- 
pared for  the  ordeal.  How  I  did  dread  it!  My  little  class- 
mates looked  like  they  were  sorry  for  me.  But  imagine  my 
relief  when  the  old  gentleman  informed  me  that  I  would  not 
be  asked  any  questions  that  day;  that  he  only  wanted  me  to 
sit  there  and  listen  to  the  others  and  to  watch  the  use  they 


Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home        121 

made  of  the  diagrams  and  the  chart.  After  each  lesson  the 
Professor  took  special  pains  in  explaining  everything  to  me. 
The  simplicity  of  the  work  began  to  impress  itself  on  me  and 
I  saw  through  some  of  the  problems  with  a  degree  of  clearness. 

That  was  Friday  and  I  was  beginning  to  feel  some  encour- 
agement, but  it  did  not  last  long,  for  that  afternoon  the  whole 
student  body  assembled  in  the  chapel  for  the  close  of  the 
week's  exercises.  A  couple  of  hours  were  devoted  to  making 
speeches  and  reading  compositions.  Professor  Burkett  had 
a  way  of  his  own  in  conducting  exercises  of  that  character. 
In  fact,  he  had  a  way  of  his  own  in  doing  everything  in  his 
school. 

After  the  set  speeches  and  compositions  had  been  delivered 
he  would  call  on  students  promiscuously  and  without  a  word 
of  warning  to  mount  the  stage  and  make  an  off-hand  speech. 
It  was  very  amusing  to  hear  a  raw  fellow  attempt  to  speak 
without  any  preparation.  One  of  them  appeared  very  awkward 
and  bunglesome  and  his  failure  produced  much  merriment. 
I  was  enjoying  the  fun  hugely. 

But  my  fun  was  of  short  duration,  for  the  old  man  threw 
his  eye  around  the  room  and  said:  "We  will  now  hear  from 
Mr.  Rankin,  of  Georgia."  If  a  bomb  had  exploded  under 
me  my  surprise  would  not  have  been  greater.  I  was  dumb- 
founded. I  sat  as  one  glued  to  his  seat.  The  sterm  old 
teacher  would  take  no  sort  of  excuse  and  he  repeated  his 
introduction  of  me  with  frowning  emphasis.  There  was  no 
alternative  and,  with  my  knees  smiting  each  other  from  sheer 
fright,  I  mounted  the  rostrum ;  but  my  tongue  clove  to  the 
roof  of  my  mouth,  and  I  was  so  completely  filled  with  breath 
that  I  could  not  utter  a  word. 

The  Professor  told  me  to  proceed  and  not  to  stand  there 
like  a  dummy.    This  brought  down  the  house,  but  it  left  me 


122  The  Story  of  My  Life 

standing  there  as  helpless  as  ever.  In  a  broken  voice  I  man- 
aged to  say:  "Professor,  I  can't  make  a  speech."  "Well, 
then,  you  had  better  make  a  bow  and  take  your  seat,"  retorted 
the  old  man;  and  I  never  obeyed  one  of  his  commands  with 
more  alacrity.  As  I  bobbed  my  head  and  retired  to  my  place 
they  all  cheered  me  to  the  echo.  I  realized  that  I  had  made 
a  spectacle  of  myself  and  felt  embarrassed,  but  I  had  one 
comfort,  and  that  was  several  others  had  not  done  much  better 
than  myself.  Misery  loves  company  and  I  had  good  com- 
panionship. 

After  the  adjournment  of  school  quite  a  number  of  the  boys 
came  around  and  congratulated  me  on  my  first  effort  at  speak- 
ing and  reminded  me  of  the  fact  that  such  experiences  were 
not  uncommon  in  that  school. 

Among  the  students  was  a  bright  young  fellow  who  had 
been  under  the  tuition  of  the  old  teacher  three  or  four  years 
and  he  had  been  making  a  specialty  of  phrenology,  and  occa- 
sionally the  boys  would  congregate  in  one  of  the  rooms  and 
Bob  Rutherford  would  examine  their  heads,  especially  the 
new  boys.  He  would  take  the  boy,  measure  his  head,  place 
his  hand  upon  the  several  bumps  and  call  them  by  name  and 
then  decide  whether  or  not  he  had  any  aptitude  for  study  or 
any  outlook   for   development. 

I  had  to  submit  to  this  ordeal.  It  was  not  exactly  hazing, 
but  it  was  on  that  order.  I  was  somewhat  credulous  and  dis- 
posed to  believe  what  was  ordinarily  told  me  and,  in  some 
sense,  this  was  a  serious  matter  to  me.  It  was  made  such  by 
those  who  witnessed  the  proceeding. 

The  fellow  proceeded  to  measure  my  head  from  the  fore- 
head to  the  back,  and  from  one  ear  to  the  other,  and  then  he 
pressed  his  hands  upon  the  protuberances  carefully  and  called 
them  by  name.    He  felt  my  pulse,  looked  carefully  at  my  com- 


Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home         123 

plexion  and  defined  it,  and  then  retired  to  make  his  calcu- 
lations in  order  to  reveal  my  destiny. 

I  awaited  his  return  with  some  anxiety,  for  I  really  at- 
tached some  importance  to  what  his  statement  would  be ;  for 
I  had  been  told  that  he  had  great  success  in  that  sort  of  work 
and  that  his  conclusion  would  be  valuable  to  me.  Directty 
he  returned  with  a  piece  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and  his  state- 
ment was  short.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  my  head  was  of 
the  tenth  magnitude  with  phyloprogenitiveness  morbidly  de- 
veloped ;  that  the  essential  faculties  of  mentality  were  singu- 
larly deficient ;  that  my  contour  antagonized  all  the  established 
rules  of  phrenology,  and  that  upon  the  whole  I  was  better 
adapted  to  the  quietude  of  rural  life  rather  than  to  the  habit 
of  letters. 

Then  the  boys  clapped  their  hands  and  laughed  lustily,  but 
there  was  nothing  of  laughter  in  it  for  me.  In  fact,  I  took 
seriously  what  Eutherford  had  said  and  thought  the  fellow 
meant  it  all.  He  showed  me  a  phrenological  bust,  with  the 
faculties  all  located  and  labeled,  representing  a  perfect  human 
head,  and  mine  did  not  look  like  that  one.  I  had  never 
dreamed  that  the  size  or  shape  of  the  head  had  anything  to 
do  with  a  boy's  endowments  or  his  ability  to  accomplish  re- 
sults, to  say  nothing  of  his  quality  and  texture  of  brain  matter. 

I  went  to  my  shack  rather  dejected.  I  took  a  small  hand- 
mirror  and  looked  carefully  at  my  head,  ran  my  hands  over 
it  and  realized  that  it  did  not  resemble,  in  any  sense,  the  bust 
that  I  had  observed.  The  more  I  thought  of  the  affair  the 
worse  I  felt.  If  my  head  was  defective  there  was  no  remedy, 
and  what  could  I  do?  The  next  day  I  quietly  went  to  the 
library  and  carefully  looked  at  the  heads  of  pictures  of  Web- 
ster, Clay,  Calhoun,  Napoleon,  Alexander  Stephens  and  various 
other  great  men.     Their  pictures  were  all  there  in  histories. 


124  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Among  them  all  there  was  but  one  that  gave  me  any  encour- 
agement, and  that  was  John  C.  Calhoun's.  My  head,  so  far 
as  I  could  observe,  looked  somewhat  like  his.  Then  I  read 
a  great  deal  about  him  and  concluded  that  if  John  C.  Calhoun 
had  made  the  great  man  who  figured,  as  he  did,  in  National 
affairs,  there  was  some  hope  for  me!  But  the  mischief  done 
me  by  that  foolish  incident  gave  me  anxiety  for  some  time 
to  come. 

As  the  days  went  by  and  the  weeks  passed  I  learned  the 
art  of  studying.  As  the  old  Professor  had  told  me,  it  came 
slowly  but  surely.  It  was  not  long,  however,  until  I  had 
mastered  the  principles  of  the  diagram  system  of  Clark's 
Grammar  and,  to  my  joy  and  comfort,  I  eliminated  myself 
from  that  class  of  little  girls  and  reached  the  dignity  of  one 
whose  members  were  about  my  own  age  and  size.  And  by 
dint  of  hard  effort  I  learned  to  analyze  problems  in  arithmetic 
by  methods  purely  mental.  More  than  that,  I  made  proficiency 
in  Comstock's  Philosophy,  and  geography  was  nothing  more 
than  child's  play  to  me. 

In  other  words,  my  mind  accustomed  itself  to  sustained 
efforts  at  study,  and  as  the  first  year  closed  I  was  reckoned 
among  the  successful  students  of  the  school.  The  young 
fellow  who  had  humorously  discouraged  me  by  his  assumed 
proficiency  in  phrenology  became  my  fast  friend  and  for  one 
year  we  occupied  the  same  dormitory  and  the  same  bed. 
Others  of  the  more  advanced  classes  accepted  me  on  terms  of 
chummy  relation  and  I  shared  in  their  confidence  and  respect. 
It  was  the  result  of  my  determination  to  progress  in  my 
studies  and  my  attainments  in  the  substance  of  my  text-books 
Really  I  became  a  familiar  figure  in  all  the  walks  of  school 
life  and  took  my  place  in  the  contests  for  honors  along  all  lines. 

The  old  Professor  learned  to  set  store  by  me  and  I  was 


f 


MRS.  M.  H.  B.  BURKETT 


Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home         125 

one  of  his  confidential  students.  By  and  by  he  even  permitted 
me  to  take  charge  of  a  class  now  and  then  and  do  some  teach- 
ing as  a  tutor.  I  even  acquired  the  habit  of  speaking  in 
public  and  usually  had  some  part  in  the  debates  and  orations 
common  to  that  school.  Yes,  the  first  scholastic  year  found 
me  at  its  close  a  very  successful  student  and  well  established 
in  the  institution. 

I  attended  Church  service  twice  a  month  at  Picken's  Chapel, 
an  uncomely  wooden  structure  in  the  chinkapin  bushes  two 
miles  from  the  school.  Occasionally  I  would  venture  further 
to  a  quarterly  meeting  and  hear  the  Presiding  Elder  on 
Sunday. 

It  was  my  good  fortune  to  form  the  acquaintance  of  a  young 
minister  who  worked  as  junior  preacher  on  the  circuit.  He 
was  a  student  in  Emory  and  Henry  College,  but  his  health 
had  run  down  and  he  dropped  out  a  year  to  recuperate  and 
was  sent  to  this  work  as  assistant  preacher.  He  was  not 
through  his  junior  year  in  college.  I  heard  him  at  his  first 
appointment  at  Picken's  and  I  was  greatly  impressed  with  his 
ability.  He  was  young,  sparemade,  with  a  severe  face,  a 
strong  but  not  musical  voice,  with  a  distant  sort  of  air  ap- 
parently and  wonderfully  gifted  in  the  use  of  words,  espe- 
cially words  of  more  than  three  syllables.  I  regarded  him 
as  a  prodigy. 

At  the  close  of  the  service  I  approached  him  and  made  his 
acquaintance  and  soon  found  him  to  be  really  a  very  kind 
and  sociable  young  man.  I  did  not  open  my  heart  to  him, 
but  he  found  out  some  way  that  I  was  looking  toward  the 
ministry  and  took  more  than  a  passing  interest  in  me.  While 
he  was  near  my  age  he  had  had  better  advantages  than  myself 
and  I  looked  up  to  him.    This  he  recognized  and  appreciated. 

As  the  vear  advanced  and  I  became  more  and  more  intimate 


126  The  Story  of  My  Life 

with  him  I  concluded  to  ask  Professor  Burkett  to  permit  me 
to  invite  the  young  man  to  preach  at  the  school  chapel  for 
the  benefit  of  the  student  body.  I  knew  that  the  old  gentle- 
man was  very  much  prejudiced  against  most  of  the  older 
Southern  Methodist  ministers,  for  he  was  a  strong  Republican 
in  politics  and  a  devoted  Northern  Methodist.  Feeling  ran 
pretty  high  between  these  two  Church  organizations  at  that 
time. 

So  one  day  I  broached  the  matter  and  told  him  of  this 
young  man,  and  he  made  particular  inquiry  about  him  and 
became  interested  in  him.  Then  I  said  to  him :  "Suppose  we 
have  him  make  us  an  appointment  to  preach  some  of  these 
times  in  our  chapel?" 

The  old  gentleman  said  he  would  be  delighted  to  have  him. 
So  the  next  time  he  came  to  Picken's  I  asked  him  to  give  us 
an  appointment  some  week  night  at  the  school  chapel,  and  he 
readily  consented. 

The  appointment  was  made  for  the  next  Wednesday  night. 
I  took  great  pains  to  advertise  it  and  we  invited  in  the  people 
living  near  us,  and  when  the  time  came  we  had  the  house 
filled  with  students  and  other  people. 

The  old  Professor  received  the  young  man  graciously.  I 
felt  some  solicitude,  for  I  had  invited  him  and  he  was  my 
preacher;  and  I  wanted  him  to  do  well  for  several  reasons. 
I  remember  his  text  as  though  it  were  but  yesterday :  "Words 
fitly  spoken  are  like  apples  of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver" — one 
of  the  proverbs  of  Solomon.  It  was  a  well-prepared  sermon, 
delivered  with  point  and  earnestness.  The  subject  treated  was 
the  importance  of  clean  speech  and  the  advantage  of  acquiring 
the  habit  of  using  it  in  our  young  student  life.  The  sermon 
made  a  profound  impression.  Before  some  of  us  retired  that 
night  we  resorted  to  the  dictionary  to  learn  the  meaning  of 


Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home         12J 

several  rather  extraordinary  words  he  used  in  the  progress  of 
his  discourse.  That  is,  they  were  extraordinary  to  us.  Beside 
that,  however,  he  gave  us  many  things  to  think  about,  and  the 
sermon  must  have  been  beyond  the  ordinary,  for  I  remember 
its  outlines  and  substance  to  this  day.  It  was  a  treat  to 
hear  him. 

The  young  preacher  spent  the  night  with  the  Professor  and 
until  the  next  afternoon.  I  was  busy  with  my  errands  at  the 
odd  hours  and  with  my  classes  at  the  school  hours  and  did 
not  get  to  have  any  communication  with  him,  but  the  old  man 
conversed  extensively  with  him. 

After  he  had  gone  and  just  after  the  school  had  closed  I 
went  to  the  Professor's  office.  I  wanted  to  find  out  what 
impression  the  young  man  had  made  on  the  old  gentleman's 
mind  and  what  his  estimate  of  him  was.  I  wanted  to  find 
out  if  I  had  sized  him  up  right,  or  was  I  merely  carried  away 
with  my  infatuation   for  him. 

The  old  gentleman  was  seated  by  his  library  table  with  a 
large  and  well-worn  volume  upon  his  knee.    I  said  to  him : 

"Professor,  how  do  you  like  our  young  preacher?  Do  you 
not  think  he  is  promising?" 

The  old  man  laid  down  the  volume  and  took  off  his  glasses 
and  said: 

"Well,  sir;  I  am  much  pleased  with  him.  He  is  a  young 
man  of  very  bright  mind  and  fluent  delivery.  He  speaks  with 
ease  and  his  information  is  varied  and  comprehensive  for  one 
of  his  years.  You  know  he  is  not  yet  twenty,  but  he  is  more 
matured  than  many  middle-aged  men.  And  the  most  remark- 
able thing  about  him  is  his  originality.  I  have  just  gone 
through  with  this  volume  which  is  "Five  Hundred  Sketches 
and  Skeletons  of  Sermons"  and  there  is  not  one  word  of  that 
discourse  he  delivered  last  night  in  this  book !     I  am  sure,  sir, 


128  The  Story  of  My  Life 

that  you  will  hear  from  that  young  man  some  of  these  days.'' 

The  old  man's  words  have  long  since  come  true,  for  that 
young  man  is  Bishop  James  Atkins,  D.  D.,  of  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church,  South.  I  acquired  an  intimate  fondness 
for  him  back  there  before  we  were  twenty  years  of  age  and 
I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  reciprocated  it,  and  it 
matured  into  the  most  undying  friendship  and  brotherly  love. 

Some  years  after  that  we  both  became  members  of  the  Hol- 
ston  Conference  as  co-pastors,  and  while  I  was  pastor  of  the 
Church  in  Asheville.  North  Carolina,  he  was  President  of  the 
Asheville  Female  College,  back  in  the  late  eighties  and  early 
nineties,  and  we  were  like  brothers  after  the  flesh. 

Then  he  became  President  of  Emory  and  Henry  College 
and  I  was  transferred  to  Kansas  City,  Missouri,  and  for  a 
time  our  paths  did  not  cross.  But  later  on,  when  he  and 
myself  were  members  of  the  same  General  Conference  at 
Birmingham,  Alabama,  and  the  vote  for  Bishop  was  taken, 
he  had  seventy-six  votes,  and  then  dropped  down  to  only 
one.  After  many  ballots  and  no  election  seemed  possible 
from  among  those  leading  in  the  vote,  I  took  some  part  in 
bringing  him  back  into  the  race,  and  I  was  gratified  when 
he  was  elected  to  the  great  office  of  Bishop  in  the  Church. 

I  expected  good  results  from  his  work  in  this  new  relation 
and  I  have  not  been  disappointed.  I  rejoice,  therefore,  that 
it  was  my  good  fortune  to  meet  the  young  man  in  my  early 
life  out  in  the  bushes  of  Picken's  Chapel,  in  Bradley  County, 
East  Tennenessee,  and  there  laid  the  foundation  for  a  friend- 
ship that  will  be  as  lasting  as  eternity. 

During  the  vacation,  in  my  second  year  at  school,  I  returned 
to  my  old  home  in  Georgia  to  attend  the  Murray  County 
campmeeting  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  ask  the 
Church  to  license  me  as  a  local  preacher.     My  dear  mother 


Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home        129 

received  me  with  open  arms  and  it  was  a  joy  to  get  back 
home  once  more.  However,  I  had  kept  in  regular  touch  with 
her  through  the  mails.  I  knew  everything  transpiring  at 
home  and  she  knew  every  detail  of  my  school  experience. 
But  to  meet  her  again,  face  to  face,  was  tinged  with  the  breath 
of  heaven.  She  went  with  me  to  old  Center  Valley  Church 
and  after  the  service  a  conference  was  called  and  my  appli- 
cation for  a  recommendation  from  my  society  to  the  Quar- 
terly Conference  at  the  campground  was  made,  and  after  re- 
marks from  the  preacher  and  a  number  of  the  older  members 
the  application  was  unanimously  granted. 

That  day  marked  another  epoch  in  my  life  as  a  Christian. 
It  was  right  there  at  that  altar  that  I  had  made  a  public 
profession  of  religion  and  joined  the  Church,  and  those  good 
people  who  had  watched  me  for  the  five  following  years  gave 
me  their  endorsement  as  a  fit  person  for  the  ministry.  Just 
what  the  Quarterly  Conference  would  do  awaited  to  be  seen, 
but  the  people  who  knew  me  best  had  faith  in  me. 

On  Thursday  of  that  same  week  the  conference  met  at  the 
campground.  I  was  on  hand.  Rev.  H.  Adams  was  the  Pre- 
siding Elder  and  Rev.  H.  H.  Porter  was  the  preacher  in 
charge.  The  conference  was  composed  of  countrymen,  honest 
and  true.  I  stood  my  examination  without  trouble  and  retired. 
My  case  was  considered  quite  awhile.  It  meant  something 
serious  for  those  men  to  license  a  young  man  to  preach  and 
turn  him  loose  on  the  ministry.  But  one  of  them  came  out  and 
invited  me  in  and  I  returned  with  some  fear  and  trembling. 
But  my  fears  disappeared  when  Brother  Adams  announced 
that  my  license  had  been  granted.  I  felt  the  responsibility 
sensibly  enough,  but  was  gratified  that  I  was  accounted 
worthy  by  that  conference  to  preach  the  gospel  as  a  local 
preacher. 


13°  The  Story  of  My  Life 

The  business  was  finished  and  the  body  adjourned,  and 
directly  I  was  left  alone  in  the  preachers'  tent.  I  noticed  the 
written  ballots  by  which  I  had  been  licensed  lying  about  on 
the  floor,  and  my  curiosity  prompted  me  to  examine  them, 
and  to  my  mortification  I  found  three  negative  votes.  This 
troubled  me.  I  could  not  understand  it,  and  it  was  three 
years  before  I  did  understand  it. 

After  these  years  I  preached  in  the  town  of  Calhoun  in 
an  adjoining  county  and  was  invited  home  by  a  good  brother. 
After  dinner  he  said :  "I  owe  you  an  apology.  I  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Quarterly  Conference  that  licensed  you  to  preach 
and  I  voted  against  you.  I  did  it  because  you  did  not  look 
to  me  like  a  man  who  would  ever  be  able  to  preach  much,  and 
I  gave  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  to  the  Church  and  put  in  a 
negative  vote ;  and  two  others  did  the  same  thing.  But  I 
now  think  we  made  a  mistake  and  I  wanted  to  tell  you  so.'"' 

Then  I  understood  why  there  were  three  negative  votes 
against  me.  Not  long  ago  I  was  out  in  one  of  the  far  Western 
counties  dedicating  a  Church  and  a  right  old  man  told  me 
the  very  same  thing  about  his  vote  when  I  was  licensed.  ] 
was  gratified  to  learn  that  it  was  on  account  of  my  appear- 
ance and  not  because  of  any  defect  in  my  character. 

When  I  returned  to  school  and  took  up  my  work  I  was  sent  to 
an  appointment  some  five  miles  from  there  to  preach.  I  wanted 
to  get  out  of  reach  of  Professor  Burkett  and  the  students.. 
It  was  at  a  typical  country  Church  and  a  good  congregation 
was  present.  About  the  time  I  got  through  the  preliminaries 
the  old  Professor  and  several  of  the  students  walked  in  and 
took  their  seats.  My  text  was,  "If  any  man  will  come  after 
me  let  him  take  up  his  cross  and  follow  me".  I  preached 
about  twelve  minutes  and  sat  down.  The  old  Professor  arose, 
took  my  text  and  preached  a  good  sermon.    He  knew  I  would 


Some  School  Experiences  at  Student's  Home         131 

fail  and  he  was  present  to  save  the  day  and  to  preach  to  the 
people. 

The  following  Sunday  I  had  an  appointment  at  Chatata, 
but  resolved  to  make  larger  preparation  this  time.  I  went 
to  the  library  and  found  a  volume  of  sermons  by  Christ- 
mas Evans,  the  eccentric  Welsh  preacher.  In  looking  through 
it  I  found  his  sermon  on  the  text,  "It  is  finished";  and,  by 
the  way,  it  is  a  remarkable  sermon.  I  carried  the  volume  to 
the  woods  and  went  over  that  sermon  many  times.  Then  I 
climbed  upon  a  log  and  delivered  it  to  see  how  it  would 
sound.     It  was  all  right. 

However,  I  seated  myself  and  looked  through  the  book 
generally  and  I  found  a  sketch  of  his  life  prepared  by  his 
own  hand.  It  was  an  autobiography.  I  read  it  with  interest 
and  I  came  across  his  experience  at  some  great  gathering  in 
London  when  he  was  put  up  to  preach.  He  was  a  man  of 
force  and  power  and  he  delivered  a  sermon  of  merit,  taken 
bodily  from  a  volume  of  sermons.  He  astounded  the  natives. 
There  was  such  a  clamor  to  hear  the  young  Welshman  again 
that  he  was  appointed  to  fill  another  important  hour.  But 
he  had  no  other  sermon  that  he  was  willing  to  preach  to 
those  people  and  he  packed  his  grip  and  made  his  escape  from 
London  instanter.  I  at  once  concluded  that  I  had  better 
let  that  fine  sermon  of  Christmas  Evans  drop  right  there, 
which  I  proceeded  to  do ;  and  that  is  the  nearest  I  ever  came 
to  preaching  the  sermon  of  any  other  man. 

When  Sunday  came  I  was  promptly  at  the  Church  and  en- 
tered the  pulpit  with  less  fear  than  on  the  previous  occasion. 
I  had  already  broken  the  ice  and  my  dread  was  not  quite  so 
great.  I  took  my  text  and  plunged  at  once  into  its  expositi  [>n, 
but  in  fifteen  minutes  I  was  at  the  end  of  my  row.  I  could 
not  think  of  another  word  to  save  my  life,  and  I  pronounced 


132  The  Story  of  My  Life 

the  benediction  and  stepped  from  the  pulpit.  I  felt  badly 
enough,  but  Leroy  Bates,  a  big-hearted  old  countryman  who 
really  wanted  to  encourage  me,  came  around,  put  his  big 
arm  on  my  shoulder  and  in  the  greatest  sincerity  said :  "Don't 
be  discouraged,  young  brother,  you  may  come  out  all  right 
yet.''  That  about  finished  me,  and  I  declined  to  go  home 
with  him  for  dinner.  Instead  I  struck  the  road  as  soon  as 
possible  and  returned  to  my  uninviting  shack  with  the  de- 
termination that  I  would  let  preaching  alone  until  I  had 
learned  some  sense. 


Chapter  X 

The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever 
Received 

Up  to  this  time,  as  I  have  already  indicated,  my  faith  was 
simple,  confiding  and  unquestioning.  It  was  the  faith  of  my 
childhood.  Yes,  it  was  the  faith  of  my  mother.  I  did  not 
know  the  meaning  of  doubt  in  my  acceptance  of  Christ  and 
in  my  belief  in  the  Bible.  It  had  never  occurred  to  me  that 
Christ  was  not  the  Son  of  God  and  that  the  Bible  was  not 
the  exact  Word  of  God.  I  had  never  thought  how  it  was 
possible  for  Christ  to  be  both  God  and  man,  or  just  how  we 
had  received  the  Bible.  My  innocent  mind  was  an  absolute 
stranger  to  quibbles  on  these  matters.  Christ  was  my  Savior 
and  I  knew  him  as  such  from  experience ;  and  the  Bible  was 
God's  truth  to  guide  me  through  the  trials  and  the  duties  of 
this  life  to  a  better  life  beyond  the  grave.  These  were 
accepted  as  undisputed  facts.  I  had  never  dreamed  that  any- 
body called  these  truths  into  question. 

But  the  innocency  of  my  faith  received  a  rude  shock  just 
about  this  time.  Professor  Burkett  had  a  fine  yoke  of  oxen 
and  with  these  I  did  the  hauling  about  the  farm.  One  night 
they  got  out  and  wandered  on  the  railway  track  and  a  passing 
train  killed  one  of  them.  This  broke  up  his  team.  He  had  a 
son  who  was  a  distinguished  lawyer,  living  in  Chattanooga, 
and  he  owned  a  fine  farm  in  Meggs  County,  not  far  from 


134  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Decatur.  On  that  farm  he  kept  good  stock.  So  he  wrote 
to  the  old  gentleman  that  if  he  would  send  over  to  Decatur 
he  would  be  there  at  court  and  he  would  give  him  a  horse. 
He  gladly  accepted  the  proffer  and  he  gave  me  direction  and 
sent  me  on  the  errand. 

I  reached  Decatur  that  evening  and  made  myself  known 
to  Colonel  Burkett.  He  took  me  to  the  tavern  to  spend  the 
night.  Ten  or  twelve  lawyers  were  attending  court  and  they 
were  stopping  at  the  tavern  also.  It  was  a  warm  evening  and 
after  supper  they  were  all  sitting  in  the  front  yard  talking. 
I  was  seated  near  them — an  unsophisticated  boy.  It  seems 
that  just  before  that  time,  a  month  or  so,  a  lawyer  had  left 
the  bar  and  entered  the  ministry  of  the  Presbyterian  Church. 
His  name  was  Wallace,  and  these  lawyers  were  discussing 
his  change  from  the  bar  to  the  pulpit.  Some  of  them  seemed 
to  think  that  he  acted  wisely,  because  he  was  of  a  very  serious 
turn  of  mind  and  too  religious  to  make  a  successful  lawyer. 
Others  thought  he  had  made  a  mistake  and  would  regret  it 
later  on  in  life. 

Then  it  was  that  Colonel  Burkett  assumed  to  speak.  He 
was  a  man  of  strong  intellect,  well  trained  and  widely  read. 
He  was  not  a  religious  man.  The  following  is  the  substance 
of  his  deliverance : 

"Wallace  has  not  only  made  a  mistake,  but  he  has  acted 
against  common  sense  and  reason.  There  is  nothing  in  reli- 
gion except  tradition  on  the  outside  and  emotion  on  the  in- 
side. The  Bible  is  not  a  book  to  be  believed.  It  is  full  of 
discrepancies  and  contradictions.  The  Old  Testament  is  hor- 
rible. There  are  things  in  it  that  shock  decency,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  a  man's  sense.  The  New  Testament  comes  to  us  by 
a  sort  of  accident.  When  King  James  appointed  his  com- 
mission to  collate  the  manuscripts  they  threw  out  some  of 


The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever  Received  13S 

them  and  one  or  two  of  the  present  gospels  came  very  nearly 
being  discarded.  They  were  retained  by  a  very  narrow  ma- 
jority. A  number  of  the  epistles,  ascribed  to  Paul's  author- 
ship, were  never  written  by  him  and  they  are  not  entitled 
to  belief.  They  are  a  jumble  of  incongruous  writings  brought 
down  from  an  ignorant  age,  and  they  are  not  in  keeping  with 
the  intelligence  of  the  race.  The  age  has  outlived  them ;  they 
belong  to  a  period  filled  with  ignorance  and  superstition. 
Christ,  if  he  ever  lived,  was  a  good  man,  but  misguided  and 
died  as  the  result  of  his  fanaticism.  Wallace  has  only  written 
himself  down  a  fool  by  giving  up  a  good  law  practice  to 
enter  the  ministry." 

Another  leading  member  of  the  bar  challenged  the  state- 
ments of  Colonel  Burkett  and  took  up  each  point,  making 
vigorous  reply  to  him.  The  argument  grew  heated  and  ex- 
tended into  the  night. 

But  imagine  the  effect  of  all  this  on  my  innocent  mind.  It 
knocked  me  into  smithereens.  I  had  never  dreamed  of  any- 
thing like  that  I  had  heard.  It  aroused  all  sorts  of  feelings 
and  all  sorts  of  questionings.  It  flung  me  headforemost  out 
into  a  stormy  sea  without  rudder  or  compass.  The  waves 
grew  tumultuous  about  me.    I  was  almost  engulfed. 

Of  course  I  did  not  open  my  mouth  and  no  one  seemed  to 
observe  that  I  was  sitting  there.  I  arose  and  went  to  bed, 
but  I  did  not  go  to  sleep.  I  tossed  from  side  to  side  filled 
with  fear  and  misgivings.  I  thought  of  my  mother  and  her 
faith;  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  mother  was  just  like  myself. 
She  had  never  seen  anything  of  the  world,  had  never  read 
many  books  and  was  not  an  educated  woman.  She,  maybe, 
was  liable  to  mistakes.  The  man  whom  I  had  heard  talk  was 
an  educated  man ;  he  had  informed  himself  in  history ;  he 
had  traveled;  he  was  a  much  smarter  man  than  his  father, 


136  The  Story  of  My  Life 

and  maybe  he  knew  things  that  the  rest  of  us  did  not  know. 
He  saw  nothing  in  the  Bible  to  call  forth  his  faith  and  a 
number  of  the  others  seemed  to  agree  with  him.  He  did  not 
even  accept  Christ  as  his  Savior.  And  yet  I  was  starting  out 
to  prepare  myself  to  preach  this  gospel  and  to  hold  up  Christ 
to  men  and  women.  Is  it  possible  that  after  all  there  is 
nothing  in  it?  Can  it  be  that  the  whole  thing  is  a  fable,  as 
my  learned  friend  had  argued?  And  I  put  in  practically  the 
whole  night  with  these  disturbances  and  irritations  running 
riot  in  my  mind  and  heart.  It  was  one  of  the  most  miserable 
nights  I  ever  spent  in  my  life. 

When  morning  came  I  was  restless  and  tired  and  my  per- 
turbation of  mind  was  past  description.  I  had  but  little 
appetite  for  breakfast.  When  I  was  through  Colonel  Burkett 
had  the  horse  standing  at  the  gate  for  me  to  take  back.  I 
mounted  the  one  I  rode,  leading  the  other  one  and  I  started 
back  home.  All  the  way  those  same  thoughts  and  fears  had 
complete  possession  of  me;  I  was  drifting  hither  and  thither, 
but  could  find  no  solid  ground  upon  which  to  rest  my  faith 
and  hope.  The  subtle  poison  of  skepticism  had  been  injected 
into  my  mind ;  it  was  finding  its  way  into  my  blood,  and  the 
whole  of  me  was  becoming  infected. 

I  reached  home,  attended  to  my  duties  and  went  to  my 
dormitory.  I  told  my  friend,  Rutherford,  what  I  had  heard 
and  how  it  had  disturbed  me.  He  laughed  at  me  and  said 
he  thought  my  eyes  would  get  opened — that  Colonel  Burkett 
was  right.  He  said  he  had  a  book  he  wanted  me  to  read 
and  handed  me  Thomas  Paine's  Age  of  Reason.  Before  re- 
tiring I  glanced  at  the  book  and  found  some  of  the  very  things 
that  I  had  heard  the  night  before,  but  the  book  was  so  rank 
and  offensive  to  me  that  it  rather  disgusted  me  than  other- 
wise.   I  threw  it  down  and  tumbled  into  bed  and  from  sheer 


The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever  Received  137 

exhaustion  fell  to  sleep.  FOr  some  days  I  was  rent  and  torn 
with  conflicting  doubts  and  fears.  Life  became  almost  un- 
bearable.   I  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

After  awhile  I  went  to  Professor  Burkett  and  threw  open 
my  heart  to  him.  I  told  him  what  I  had  heard  in  the  con- 
versation among  those  lawyers,  but  did  not  tell  him  that  his 
son  was  one  of  the  leaders  in  that  tirade  against  the  Bible. 
I  asked  him  if  it  were  possible  that  what  they  said  could  be 
true.  He  began  and  opened  up  the  whole  subject,  rehearsed 
to  me  the  views  of  skeptics  and  infidels  and  then  pointed 
out  to  me  what  effect  such  views  had  upon  life  and  character. 
He  took  up  Thomas  Paine  and  pointed  out  his  rank  unbe- 
lief. Then  he  gave  me  an  account  of  his  life  of  debauchery 
and  the  awful  death  he  died.  He  showed  that  Voltaire  was  a 
similar  character  and  many  others  that  he  mentioned.  He 
concluded  that  part  of  it  by  saying  that  such  men  led  wicked 
lives,  which  the  Bible  and  the  Christ  condemned  and  that,  in 
a  large  sense,  this  was  why  they  rose  up  in  rebellion  and  be- 
came infidels.  He  explained  to  me  how  the  Bible  was  in- 
spired,  how  it  had  come  down  through  all  the  ages  and  how 
it  was  believed  by  multiplied  millions  of  the  best  people  living 
and  dead ;  how  it  had  built  up  human  civilization  and  devel- 
oped institutions  for  the  betterment  of  the  race ;  that  infidelity 
had  done  nothing  constructively  for  man;  it  had  only  striven 
to  undermine  faith,  to  destroy,  to  blot  out  hope  and  to  produce 
despair.  Then  his  deliverance  on  Christ,  and  what  he  had 
done  for  the  world,  was  elaborate  and  convincing.  But  he 
said  that  he  had  not  the  time  to  go  over  the  whole  field ;  that 
he  had  a  little  book  that  presented  the  matter  in  a  nutshell, 
and  he  reached  up  and  pulled  down  a  small  volume  and  handed 
it  to  me.  He  told  me  to  read  that  and  then  he  would  give 
me  something  more  extensive. 


138  The  Story  of  My  Life 

I  went  to  my  room  and  opened  the  book;  it  was  Watts' 
Apology  for  the  Bible.  It  took  up  every  point  made  by  the 
infidel  and  answered  it  succinctly.  It  gave  me  the  exact  his- 
tory of  the  King  James'  translation  of  the  Scriptures  and 
threw  a  flood  of  light  upon  that  subject.  It  gave  me  some 
relief,  but  the  insidious  virus  of  infidelity  had  gotten  into  my 
mental  system  and  I  still  had  doubts  and  fears.  I  was  not 
inclined  to  give  up  my  faith,  or  to  go  back  on  the  Bible;  I 
was  simply  fearful  and  filled  with  doubts.  There  was  a  con- 
dition of  intellectual  fermentation  going  on  in  my  faculties 
and  confusion  and  misgiving  were  the  result.  Difficulties  of 
a  mental  kind  were  projecting  their  barriers  in  front  of  my 
pathway  and  I  was  unable  to  surmount  them  or  to  remove 
them.  In  whatever  direction  I  would  turn  they  were  there 
to  afflict  me  and  to  hinder  me. 

I  was  fighting  a  severe  battle  and  victory  was  nowhere 
hi  sight.  My  faith  remained  intact,  but  it  was  clouded ;  my 
hope  was  still  anchored,  but  the  wild  winds  and  the  stormy 
waves  were  belaboring  me.  I  was  struggling  to  find  a  land- 
ing away  from  the  fury  of  the  storm;  I  was  striving  to  quell 
the  ebullition  of  my  mental  fermentation — yea,  I  was  flinging 
my  shoulders  with  might  and  main  against  the  formidable 
obstructions  that  were  blocking  my  progress. 

I  learned  long  afterward  that  I  was  only  passing  through 
that  crisis  of  doubt  that  comes  to  the  experience  of  every 
honest  inquirer  after  the  truth;  yes,  I  had  reached  the  point 
at  which  the  innocence  of  faith  had  its  severest  trial — the  time 
when  the  mind  cries  out  after  a  more  solid  ground  of  hope 
than  that  accepted  in  childhood;  a  foundation  that  is  not  only 
built  upon  Christ,  but  that  furnished  a  rational  reason  for 
the  hope  that  is  within  the  bosom. 

I  have  since  learned  that  faith  comes  to  a  point,  in  its 


The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever  Received  139 

larger  development  and  culture,  when  it  wants  to  challenge 
the  reason  for  its  existence;  when  it  desires  to  examine  the 
integrity  of  its  credentials  and  reach  conclusions  that  cannot 
be  shaken  by  every  wind  of  doubt.  But  this  fact  I  did  not 
know  at  the  time  I  was  passing  through  the  fires  of  purifi- 
cation. I  could  only  know  this  fact  after  years  of  research 
and  investigation.  During  the  critical  process  of  this  period 
of  doubt  and  fear  the  clouds  were  hanging  low  above  me,  and 
the  adverse  tempests  were  beating  pitilessly  upon  me. 

In  the  meantime  I  clung  to  my  faith  and  followed  in  the 
glimmering  light  of  my  hope.  With  all  my  disturbance  and 
oftimes  anguish  of  spirit  I  tenaciously  held  on  to  the  Bible 
and  conscientiously  gripped  the  hand  of  my  Savior.  I  lost 
the  innocence  of  my  faith,  but  acquired  a  broader  and  a  more 
rational  trust;  I  saw  the  brilliancy  of  my  childhood  hope  take 
on  a  faded  hue,  but  I  anchored  my  desire  in  the  haven  of  rest 
and  my  expectation  rose  to  subiimer  heights  as  I  emerged 
from  the  gloom  and  looked  out  upon  the  expanse  of  an  un- 
folding  future. 

As  the  years  passed  by  and  my  mind  became  more  matured 
my  reasoning  faculties  grew  stronger,  my  intellectual  horizon 
lifted  its  boundary  circle  and  became  more  extended  in  its 
scope,  and  I  found  myself  able  to  digest  more  nourishing 
meats  and  to  cope  with  deeper  and  more  perplexing  problems. 

In  other  words,  I  ceased  to  be  a  child  in  my  faith  and  be- 
came a  full-grown  man  in  my  knowledge  of  God  and  his 
methods  of  revealing  his  will  to  humanity.  But  the  result 
came  to  me  at  the  end  of  a  long  struggle  that  tried  the  joints 
in  my  harness,  and  that  gave  me  careful  investigation  into  the 
elements  that  entered  into  the  foundation  of  my  faith  and  hope. 
Therefore  it  has  been  many  a  long  day  since  troublesome 
doubts  harassed  and  disturbed  the  state  of  my  mind. 


140  The  Story  of  My  Life 

It  was  a  fortunate  coincidence  that,  along  with  those  first 
struggles,  I  had  a  strong  and  steady  hand  to  lead  me  and  a 
wise  and  settled  mind  to  help  me  solve  the  problems.  In 
addition  to  this  the  thought  of  my  mother's  prayers  for  me 
and  the  influence  of  her  godly  tuition  helped  to  strengthen 
and  sustain  me. 

Now  comes  the  sequel  to  this  story,  which  will  require  me 
to  skip  over  several  years  and  give  another  incident  closely 
related  to  it.  I  was  pastor  of  a  city  Church,  in  which  city 
the  State  University  was  located.  By  the  student  body  I  was 
elected  to  preach  the  annual  sermon  before  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  of  the  institution.  They  chose  my  sub- 
ject for  me — "The  Inspiration  and  Authenticity  of  the  Scrip- 
tures". I  had  three  months  in  which  to  make  the  preparation 
and  I  devoted  much  time  to  reading  and  research  on  the 
question.  In  addition  to  this  I  drew  heavily  upon  my  re- 
sources already  accumulated  from  the  extended  investigation 
along  this  line  superinduced  by  my  Decatur  experience.  When 
the  time  came  to  deliver  it  I  had  done  my  best.  In  fact,  I 
have  recently  re-read  that  sermon  and,  after  further  years  of 
study,  I  do  not  see  where  I  could  make  any  improvement  upon 
it.  Abler  men  could  put  up  a  much  stronger  discourse,  but 
it  was  a  finished  sermon  so  far  as  my  ability  was  concerned. 

I  had  an  immense  audience,  not  only  of  students,  but  of 
local  people  and  the  faculty.  I  had  liberty  in  its  delivery, 
and  such  was  the  appreciation  of  it  by  the  University  author- 
ities that  they  gave  me  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Divinity.  This 
was  unmerited  and  not  deserved,  but  I  was  not  responsible 
for  their  action.  The  sermon  was  published  by  request  in  the 
daily  papers  of  the  city  and  given  a  wide  reading.  I  received 
many  letters  of  appreciation  from  divers  friends,  and  one  of 
them  was  from  Colonel  Burkett.    He  did  not  know  me.    The 


EEV.  W.  E.  MUNSEY,  D.  D. 


The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever  Received  141 

fact  is  when  I  went  on  that  errand  to  Decatur  he  did  not 
ask  me  my  name  and  when  I  left  him  the  next  morning  he 
had  no  idea  who  I  was.  But  I  knew  him.  I  will  repeat  a 
few  of  the  passages  in  that  letter: 

"I  have  read  with  interest  your  sermon  on  the  'Di- 
vine Inspiration  and  Authenticity  of  the  Scriptures',  as 
published  in  the  daily  press,  and  I  write  this  appre- 
cition  of  it  for  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  I 
have  gotten  profit  out  of  it.  It  has  given  me  light  on  the 
subject.  I  have  read  a  great  deal  on  that  question  and  have 
my  peculiar  views  about  it,  but  your  treatment  of  it  has  in- 
clined me  to  re-examine  my  premises  and  arguments  and  see 
if  my  conclusions  are  altogether  sound.  I  was  brought  up 
under  religious  tuition  and  my  predilections  favor  the  Bible 
story;  but  my  reason,  in  my  more  matured  manhood,  rebelled 
against  its  validity.  This  has  been  my  position  for  years.  But 
I  must  confess  I  get  no  pleasure  out  of  my  doubts  and  in- 
fidelity. I  really  want  to  believe  the  Bible  and  to  have  faith 
in  a  Savior.  As  far  as  my  observations  go  the  Christian 
man  is  the  happiest  and  the  most  useful  of  all  men.  My  heart 
wants  to  be  a  Christian,  but  my  head  will  not  give  its  consent. 
But  I  am  determined  to  make  further  inquiry  into  this  matter. 

"In  the  second  place,  a  friend  of  mine  who  knows  you  tells 
me  that  you  are  a  former  student  of  my  father,  and  this  fact 
quickens  my  interest  in  you  and  in  the  sermon.  As  I  re-read 
it  I  felt  that  it  was  my  father  preaching  through  you.  He  has 
long  since  been  gone,  but  I  revere  his  memory  and  appreciate 
his  work.  Since  he  was  instrumental  in  helping  to  produce 
you  I  am  proud  of  you  for  his  sake.  My  father  was  not  a 
faultless  man,  but  he  had  a  generous  heart  and  a  confiding 
faith,  and  his  work  survives  him  in  the  poor  boys  whom  he 
helped  to  get  an  education.    He  lived  to  a  good  purpose  and 


I42  The  Story  of  My  Life 

spent  his  long  life  in  helping  others.  His  sacrifices  were  many, 
but  were  he  living  his  reward  would  be  ample  in  the  thought 
that  he  had  aided  others  to  make  the  world  better." 

When  I  read  that  letter  it  occurred  to  me  that  Colonel  Bur- 
kett  had  unwittingly  made  that  sermon  possible.  Had  I  not 
sat  there  as  an  innocent  youth  on  that  September  evening  in 
the  long  ago  and  heard  his  attacks  upon  the  Bible  and  his 
doubts  concerning  Christ,  I  perhaps  would  never  have  gone 
into  so  full  an  investigation  of  that  subject  and  preached  that 
discourse.  The  experience  cost  me  an  anguish  that  words  can 
never  express,  but  out  of  it  have  come  some  of  the  most  val- 
uable lessons  of  my  ministry.  It  has  caused  me  to  have  more 
sympathy  with  that  class  of  men  who  seem  to  want  to  know 
the  truth,  but  whose  perverseness  leads  them  to  either  doubt 
and  discard  it  or  to  treat  it  with  indifference  and  let  it  go  by 
default.  My  observation  is  that  men  get  no  comfort  out  of 
their  skepticism  and  infidelity ;  that  down  in  their  hearts,  in 
their  better  moments,  they  want  to  accept  the  truth  and  be 
Christians. 

To  return  to  my  school  experience.  I  never  did  wilfully 
disobey  Professor  Burkett's  rules  but  once.  Fortunately  for 
me  I  covered  up  my  tracks  so  skillfully  that  to  the  day  of  his 
death  he  never  found  it  out.  My  friend  Rutherford  was 
about  finishing  up  his  career  at  Student's  Home.  He  had 
been  there  more  than  the  time  required  to  graduate  in  the 
course  of  study.  He  taught  awhile.  During  the  time  he  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  Maggie  Castillo,  a  beautiful  young 
lady  pupil.  She  was  of  medium  height,  had  a  face  of  rare 
attraction,  sparkling  blue  eyes  and  her  head  was  covered  with 
a  wealth  of  black  curly  hair.  She  was  the  sort  of  a  girl  with 
whom  an  ardent  young  fellow  could  not  help  falling  in  love. 
There  was  a  winsomeness  about  her  personality  that  was  hard 


The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever  Received  143 

to  resist.  She  was  as  bright  as  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude. 
In  her  studies,  in  her  recitations,  in  her  compositions  and  in 
her  popularity  she  excelled. 

Her  room  was  adjoining  the  Professor's  residence  and  she 
had  a  congenial  companion.  I  was  the  only  boy  in  that  school 
who  had  access  to  the  premises.  The  others  were  barred. 
My  duties,  as  well  as  the  confidence  the  old  gentleman  had  in 
me,  gave  me  that  privilege.  Rutherford  laid  his  case  before 
me  and  told  me  that  I  was  the  only  man  on  the  hill  who  could 
come  to  his  relief.  He  was  almost  desperate.  I  yielded  on 
the  principle  that  all  things  are  fair  in  love  or  war.  I  was 
convinced  that  those  two  young  people  were  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  the  completeness  of  their  lives.  So  I  became  the  con- 
fidential go-between  for  those  two  youngsters ;  but  in  doing 
it  I  took  my  own  student  life  into  my  hands. 

After  I  launched  into  it  I  often  trembled  at  the  risk,  for  it 
was  the  hardest  thing  imaginable  to  carry  on  an  episode  of 
that  sort  in  the  school  without  the  old  man  finding  it  out.  So 
many  a  time,  away  late  at  night ;  yes,  often  in  the  early  morn- 
ing when  the  ground  was  frozen,  I  took  off  my  shoes  and 
stealthily  threaded  my  way  through  the  shrubbery  and  the  rose- 
bushes to  Maggie's  window  and  gently  tapped  on  the  frame. 
She  was  the  most  easily  waked  of  any  one  I  have  ever  known. 
She  never  failed  to  respond.  The  window  would  quietly  go 
up  an  inch  or  so  and,  either  in  or  out,  would  drop  one  of  those 
sweet  little  epistles  so  full  of  meaning.  The  next  day  in  the 
classroom,  right  under  the  old  Professor's  nose,  I  could  see 
those  two  lovesick  people,  through  their  eyes,  carrying  on  a 
courtship  that  communicated  the  thoughts  of  each  to  the  other. 
I  knew  what  was  in  those  clandestine  letters.  I  could  read 
their  telepathic  communications  just  as  accurately  as  though 
I  could  hear  their  articulate  speech.     It  used  to  interest  me  no 


144  The  Story  of  My  Life 

little,  and  the  amusing  as  well  as  the  fortunate  thing  was  the 
old  gentleman,  who  thought  nothing  escaped  him,  was  in  bliss- 
ful ignorance  of  what  was  transpiring  under  his  eyes. 

Finally  things  came  to  a  head.  The  plan  was  arranged  for 
their  elopement  and  marriage.  I  arranged  every  detail,  secured 
the  minister,  fixed  the  place  in  a  distant  neighbor's  home,  kid- 
napped Maggie,  turned  her  over  to  Rutherford  and  then 
dropped  as  completely  out  of  the  scheme  as  though  I  were 
no  part  of  it. 

After  she  had  been  gone  an  hour  by  some  means  the  Pro- 
fessor got  on  to  it.  I  have  always  suspected  that  it  was 
through  some  one  who  missed  her  late  at  night  from  the  room. 
He  arose,  sounded  his  bugle  and  that  was  the  signal  for 
everybody  to  assemble  in  the  chapel.  He  would  sometimes  do 
this  at  the  most  unexpected  hours  of  the  night  or  day.  He 
lighted  up  the  room  and  we  were  soon  dressed  and  before 
him.  He  was  all  excitement  and  unfolded  what  had  hap- 
pended.  Rutherford  and  Maggie  Castillo  were  gone  and  he 
was  in  a  towering  rage.  He  wanted  an  honest  confession, 
for  he  was  determined  to  know  who  had  aided  them.  Some 
one  had  a  hand  in  it  and  he  wanted  to  know  the  guilty  party 
or  parties.  Everybody  looked  amazed.  No  one  knew  what 
to  answer,  except  that  they  knew  nothing  of  it  and  were  sur- 
prised to  hear  the  news.  The  fact  is  I  was  the  only  human 
being,  except  Bob  and  Maggie,  that  knew  one  living  thing 
about  it ;  and  I  was  about  the  only  one  whom  Professor  Bur- 
kett  failed  to  suspect.  It  never  once  occurred  to  him  that  I 
had  any  connection  with  it.  He  organized  a  committee  and 
started  out  to  find  the  young  couple;  he  was  confident  that 
they  had  gone  to  some  neighbor's  house. 

I  was  one  of  the  trusted  ones  selected  and,  at  my  suggestion, 
we  started  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction  they  had  taken. 


The  First  Shock  My  Faith  Ever  Received  145 

I  knew  where  they  had  gone,  but  I  did  not  intend  that  he 
should  find  them  that  night.  I  knew  that  in  less  than  an  hour 
they  would  be  safely  married,  and  then  the  old  gentleman's 
wrath  would  be  impotent,  so  far  as  they  were  concerned. 

After  arousing  a  number  of  the  neighbors,  to  their  surprise 
and  disgust,  we  finally  returned  from  a  fool's  errand  and  re- 
tired for  the  rest  of  the  night,  which  was  not  much  of  that 
night.  The  next  day  the  Professor  learned  all  about  where 
they  went,  and  at  what  time  they  were  married  and  the 
preacher  who  performed  the  ceremony.  He  was  mad  for  days, 
but  with  all  his  ability  to  ferret  out  violations  of  his  rules  and 
bring  the  guilty  parties  to  justice  he  never  succeeded  in  get- 
ting one  iota  of  information  about  who  planned  that  elope- 
ment and  delivered  that  girl  to  that  lovesick  young  tutor. 
That  was  one  secret  that  baffled  all  his  detective  skill. 

Well,  while  I  did  deceive  the  old  gentleman  and  to  some 
extent  abused  his  confidence,  yet  I  have  never  had  any  com- 
punction of  conscience  about  it;  for  I  have  never  thought  I 
did  wrong  in  breaking  down  the  barriers  erected  by  him  to 
keep  Bob  Rutherford  and  Maggie  Castillo  from  the  consum- 
mation of  their  wedded  bliss.  They  loved  each  other  deeply 
and  thev  were  entitled  to  its  fruition. 


Chapter  XI 

My  Last  Year  With  Professor 
Burkett 

Even  before  the  second  year  at  Student's  Home  had  been 
finished  I  had  gone  to  work  and  built  me  a  dormitory  of  my 
own,  selecting  a  spot  for  it  in  a  weird  ravine  amid  a  thicket  of 
pines  and  far  away  from  the  noise  and  distractions  of  the  other 
dormitories.  I  wanted  solitude,  for  I  had  serious  work  to  do 
during  the  few  hours  each  day  and  night  I  had  to  devote 
to  it.  It  was  a  crude  hut,  built  of  peeled  pine  poles,  chinked 
and  daubed  with  a  stick  and  mud  chimney  and  roof  made  of 
clapboards.  The  shutter  to  trie  door  was  hung  on  the  outside 
because  there  was  not  room  enough  on  the  inside,  with  my 
scant  furniture,  for  it  to  open  and  close.  My  bed  was  swung 
from  the  rafters,  which  gave  me  some  more  accommodation. 
It  was  a  comfortable  shack,  but  unsightly  and  unattractive. 
The  one  beauty  of  it  was,  I  did  not  have  to  pay  any  rent.  It 
was  mine.  In  this  inclosure  I  did  some  of  the  best  work 
of  my  life. 

At  this  particular  time  I  was  in  my  last  year  at  that  school. 
The  coming  months  were  to  be  busy.  In  addition  to  my  regu- 
lar work  about  the  farm  to  keep  up  with  my  expenses  I  had 
the  books  in  the  advanced  class  to  master.  I  certainly  feasted 
on  no  idle  bread  as  those  months  came  and  passed  by.  It 
was  the  severest  year  of  my  life.     It  put  a  tax  upon  all  my 


My  Last  Year  With  Professor  Burkett  147 

powers  of  endurance.  My  fare  was  of  the  simplest  kind  and 
it  had  to  be  prepared  by  my  own  hand.  It  was  not  nourishing 
and  I  gradually  ran  down  in  health.  The  strain  was  too 
exacting  and  symptoms  of  decline  began  to  manifest  them- 
selves. I  steadily  lost  in  weight  and  in  appetite.  My  eyes 
took  on  a  hollow  look  and  my  face  turned  pale.  I  was  reduced 
until  I  only  tipped  the  scale  at  one  hundred  and  sixteen  pounds. 
The  day  I  entered  that  school  my  weight  was  one  hundred 
and  forty-nine.  I  became  somewhat  discouraged  and  began 
to  doubt  my  ability  to  keep  up  the  struggle  to  the  end.  I  was 
within  two  and  a  half  months  of  the  close,  but  I  could  hardly 
put  one  foot  before  the  other.  Yet  I  did  not  relax  my  efforts 
at  study  and  my  attempt  to  keep  up  my  duties  about  the  place. 
The  old  Professor  expostulated  with  me,  but  I  was  too  close 
to  the  end  to  stop.     I  must  finish  at  all  hazards. 

I  had  about  reached  the  limit  of  my  strength  and  was  forced 
to  accept  the  old  gentleman's  proposition  to  stop  my  work 
about  the  house  and  the  farm  and  take  board  with  him  for 
the  last  two  months.  This  somewhat  relieved  the  tension  and 
I  renewed  my  diligence  in  my  studies.  I  successfully  mastered 
the  course  of  study  and  was  right  at  the  head  of  my  class. 
They  elected  me  valedictorian,  an  honor  that  every  aspiring 
student  appreciates.  I  also  won  a  majority  of  the  medals 
offered  for  proficiency  and  was  ready  for  the  graduation  day. 

Three  long  years  had  passed  away.  They  had  been  years  of 
toil,  hardship,  self-denial  and  deprivation.  With  a  pen  of  iron 
they  had  engraved  the  stages  of  their  progress  upon  my  mind 
and  heart,  and  their  fearful  strain  was  manifest  in  my  sallow 
cheeks  and  stooped  form.  Through  all  the  long  years  since 
then  I  have  never  ceased  to  look  back  to  those  as  the  three 
eventful  years  in  my  life.  They  had  presented  obstacles  to  me 
of  a  formidable  character.     At  times  they  looked  like  Alpine 


148  The  Story  of  My  Life 

heights,  rugged  and  forbidding;  but  I  had  managed  to  climb 
them  and  at  last  stood  on  the  summit  and  saw  the  sunlit  plains 
beyond.  Through  tears,  sweat  and  heartaches  I  had  passed 
the  crisis,  but  the  experience  had  well-nigh  cost  my  health 
and  left  no  phase  of  my  character  untested. 

During  the  time  I  enjoyed  no  delicacy  of  diet,  no  elegance 
of  attire,  no  circle  of  association  beyond  my  student  acquaint- 
ance. My  table  had  been  scant,  my  clothing  coarse  and  un- 
couth. A  large  part  of  my  association  had  been  with  my 
books,  my  chores,  the  four  walls  of  my  shack  and  the  forest 
that  moaned  in  solitude  about  my  rude  habitation.  But  the 
experience  had  developed  my  resources,  extinguished  the  un- 
substantial ardor  of  my  dreams  and  aircastles,  taught  me  the 
hard  lessons  of  economy  and  burned  into  my  consciousness 
the  fact  that  the  only  success  worth  the  having  bases  itself 
alone  upon  the  imperishable  merit  of  moral  and  intellectual 
worth. 

True,  these  lessons  had  come  to  me  through  the  medium  of 
many  humiliating  failures,  repeated  disappointments  under  the 
merciless  pressure  of  want  and  ambition ;  but  they  were  worth 
the  price  I  paid  for  them.  I  had  learned  from  actual  experi- 
ence how  to  hope  in  despair,  feel  brave  in  times  of  fear,  com- 
pass success  in  the  jaws  of  defeat,  go  forward  in  the  face 
of  frowning  obstructions  and  rise  triumphant  out  of  the  ap- 
parent wreck  of  failure  and  expiring  hope. 

My  mind  had  gradually  yielded  to  the  wholesome  tuition  of 
systematic  training,  my  aspiration  had  been  kindled  into  the 
blaze  of  an  inextinguishable  yearning  for  the  best  and  noblest 
in  life,  and  the  whole  current  of  my  being  had  been  swept  by 
these  potent  forces  into  the  channel  of  a  deeper  and  wider 
stream  of  unfolding  possibilities.  My  feelings,  my  desires, 
my  thoughts  and  my  ambition  had  undergone  a  change.  '  The 


My  Last  Year  With  Professor  Burkett  149 

future  was  transfigured  before  me  with  the  radiant  light  and 
glory  of  a  new  world.  I  had  put  away  childish  things  and  had 
become  a  full-grown  man. 

So  that  important  day,  known  in  school  parlance  as  Com- 
mencement Day,  was  on  hand  and  I  was  ready  for  its  con- 
summation. How  many  emotions  rush  from  the  silent  cham- 
bers of  subconsciousness  as  memory  carries  one  back  to  that 
eventful  day!  It  makes  me  feel  now  like  the  dews  of  youth 
were  once  again  upon  my  brow  and  the  friends  of  far-off 
years  were  again  before  me.  This  was  a  proud  day  for  me. 
The  sun  was  bright  and  the  earth  looked  as  gladsome  to  me 
as  on  its  natal  day  when  the  morning  stars  sang  together  and 
the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy.  Springtime,  like  a  vernal 
queen  enamored  of  sweet  perfumes,  was  attired  in  her  costume 
of  opening  buds,  half-grown  leaves  and  variegated  flowers. 

From  the  country  round  about  and  from  the  town  not  far 
away  a  large  concourse  of  people  had  assembled  to  witness 
the  closing  exercises  of  the  school.  Young  men  and  beautiful 
maidens,  happy  boys  and  laughing  lassies,  were  full  of  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion.  Cheerful  words  were  reverberating 
through  the  throng  and  smiles  and  good  humor  lighted  up 
every  face  in  the  audience.  Whose  is  the  heart  that  could 
not  catch  the  inspiration  of  such  an  occasion !  Speech  after 
speech  was  delivered  and  each  one  met  with  well-merited 
applause. 

At  the  close  of  the  program  came  my  time  for  the  valedic- 
tory. I  walked  upon  the  stage  with  my  homespun  suit  put  in 
the  best  condition  possible.  After  the  first  few  moments  the 
excitement  left  me  and  I  became  unconscious  of  self  and  my 
surroundings.  My  speech  absorbed  my  whole  thought  and  I 
spoke  with  deliberation.  As  I  reviewed  with  delicate  pro- 
priety my  varied  experiences  at  Student's  Home,  my  long  and 


150 


The  Story  o'j  My  Life 


My  Shack  at  Student's  Home. 


My  Last  Year  With  Professor  Burkett  151 

pleasant  relations  with  my  classmates  in  study,  their  kindness 
toward  me  in  my  unaided  effort  to  succeed,  the  constant  care 
and  oversight  of  our  venerable  teacher,  a  forecast  of  my  pur- 
pose and  aim  in  the  future,  and  finally  pronouncing,  in  pa- 
thetic tenderness,  the  word  "Farewell",  the  audience  responded 
most  generously  with  demonstrations  of  applause.  Most  of 
them  knew  what  it  had  cost  me  to  win  the  honor  of  that 
glad  day. 

Dear  old  Professor  Burkett,  kind-hearted  and  impulsive, 
wept  aloud  as  old  Leroy  Bates,  the  man  who  tried  to  comfort 
me  at  Chatata  that  Sunday,  climbed  upon  the  stage  and  put 
his  big  arms  around  me  and  said:  "I  know'd  it  was  in  you 
and  believed  it  would  come  out  if  you  had  half  a  chance. 
God  bless  you,  my  boy." 

Looking  back  at  that  day's  performance  from  the  present 
time,  the  effort  did  not  amount  to  much  and  there  was  really 
but  little,  if  anything,  in  the  speech;  but  taking  into  account 
how  little  I  knew  when  I  entered  that  school,  how  I  had 
struggled  to  overcome  difficulties  and  having  the  sympathy  of 
the  student  body  and  mfost  of  the  audience  with  me,  all  com- 
bined to  make  it  appear  most  favorably  in  my  behalf. 

But  that  demonstration  of  good-will  did  not  turn  my  head, 
for  it  had  been  won  at  too  great  a  sacrifice,  and  I  realized 
that  the  goal  of  my  ambition  was  far  in  the  future.  My  work 
had  only  begun.  I  had  just  advanced  far  enough  to  under- 
stand the  magnitude  of  the  unfinished  task.  Instead  of  puffing 
me  up,  it  tended  to  humble  me;  and  after  remaining  long 
enough  to  receive  the  congratulations  of  my  school  friends 
and  to  say  good-bye  to  many  of  them,  I  bowed  myself  out 
and  hastened  to  my  dormitory  in  the  thicket  to  pack  my  be- 
longings preparatory  to  my  departure.  My  work  there  was 
done.    The  little  hut  felt  dear  to  me. 


152  The  Story  of  My  Life 

I  never  was  a  man  of  much  surplus  sentiment,  still  I  felt 
attached  to  the  shack.  Many  lonely  nights  I  had  spent  within 
its  walls,  and  from  its  rude  altars  I  had  sent  up  many  earnest 
prayers  through  its  clapboard  roof  to  the  throne  of  the  Father. 
No  profane  word  had  ever  desecrated  its  hearthstone  and  no 
base  deed  had  ever  polluted  its  archives.  It  had  witnessed 
my  secret  tears ;  it  had  heard  my  vows  of  faith ;  it  had  re- 
corded my  poverty  and  want ;  it  had  registered  my  failures  and 
my  successes,  and  it  had  reverberated  with  my  songs  in  the 
night-watches. 

True,  it  had  sheltered  destitution,  privation,  actual  want; 
but  it  had  been  poverty  without  disgrace,  privation  without 
whining,  and  complaint  and  want  without  degradation.  It  had 
given  hospitality  to  the  purest  of  motives,  the  noblest  of  am- 
bitions and  the  loftiest  purposes  and  aspirations.  I  felt  some 
pain  as  I  stepped  from  the  dingy  doorway  and  closed  its 
familiar  old  shutter  forever.  It  had  been  my  silent  friend  in 
the  days  of  my  sorest  needs.  Away  from  its  dismal  haunts 
I  carried  a  permanent  sense  of  many  bitter  experiences,  but 
these  were  intermingled  here  and  there  with  the  delightful 
fragrance  of  many  pleasant  reminiscences.  I  doffed  my  hat 
and  gave  it  an  affectionate  though  an  endless  good-bye. 

I  wended  my  way  back  to  the  Professor's  office  and  made 
my  final  settlement  with  him.  He  had  kept  his  books  and  I 
had  kept  mine.  They  looked  like  veritable  mosaics.  Several 
pages  were  filled  with  the  result.  Two  hours  work  here,  five 
there,  a  week  yonder  and  a  month  over  there,  and  so  on  and 
so  on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  His  contained  a  pound  of 
bacon,  a  quart  of  sorghum,  a  peck  of  meal,  a  few  potatoes,  a 
little  coffee  now  and  then,  and  so  on  ad  infinitum. 

We  both  had  observed  the  monthly  totals  and  it  did  not 
require  a  great  deal  of  time  to  foot  up  the  results.     I  had 


My  Last  Year  With  Professor  Burkeit  153 

gotten  everything  from  him — books,  tuition,  provisions  and  a 
part  of  the  time  shack  rent.  I  had  paid  for  these  in  hourly 
and  daily  labor ;  and  when  the  settlement  was  complete  I  owed 
him  fifteen  dollars.  But  T  would  not  have  owed  him  that 
amount  had  it  not  been  that  my  health  gave  way  and  I  had 
to  board  with  him  two  months.  It  is  a  fact  that  during  all 
that  time  I  had  not  paid  him  a  single  penny  in  the  coin  of 
the  realm.  I  executed  my  note  to  him  for  that  balance  still 
due,  and  I  was  ready  for  the  road. 

My  severest  trial  came  when  I  bade  Professor  Burkett  and 
his  good  wife  a  final  adieu.  She  was  one  of  the  best  friends 
I  had  at  Student's  Home.  She  had  never  spoken  a  cross  or 
an  unkind  word  to  me  during  my  three  years'  stay  in  school. 
She  had  been  like  a  mother  to  me  and  I  made  myself  almost 
a  son  to  her.  The  relation  between  us  was  tender  and  sacred. 
She  had  helped  me  out  many  a  time  with  a  little  butter,  a  loaf 
of  bread,  a  few  eggs,  a  cup  of  milk  or  some  other  delicacy 
equally  as  welcome. 

She  took  me  by  the  hand  and  said :  "My  boy,  I  am  sorry 
to  see  you  leave  us.  You  have  been  a  good  and  hard-working 
boy.  I  have  never  seen  anything  wrong  in  your  conduct. 
You  have  taken  a  great  deal  off  of  Mr.  Burkett.  He  has  often 
been  cross  and  spoken  harshly  to  you.  But  you  have  quietly 
submitted  and  been  obedient.  You  have  been  good  to  me, 
and  I  love  you  almost  like  a  son.  I  have  no  fear  of  your 
future.  Some  boys  leave  here  at  the  end  of  their  term  and 
I  never  expect  anything  of  them.  But  you  are  not  one  of 
that  kind.  I  am  now.  old  and  afflicted  and  have  not  much 
longer  to  stay  here.  Some  of  these  days  you  will  come  back 
to  revisit  the  old  scenes,  but  I  will  not  be  here  to  greet  you. 
I  will  be  sleeping  up  yonder  on  the  hill.  But  when  you  come 
go  up  there  and  see  the  mound  over  me  and  remember  that  I 


154  The  Story  of  My  Life 

loved  you  and  wished  you  well." 

That  talk  got  close  to  me.  It  brought  tears  to  my  eyes. 
She  was  so  sincere  and  so  true  in  her  nature.  As  I  told  her 
good-bye  I  realized  that  it  was  the  last  time  I  would  ever  see 
her.  And  so  it  was.  I  brushed  the  tears  from  my  eyes, 
cleared  my  throat,  recovered  my  self-control  and  turned  to  the 
old  Professor.  Pie  grasped  my  hand  and,  in  a  tender  voice 
for  him,  said: 

"Rankin,  I  can  endorse  nearly  everything  my  good  wife 
has  said  to  you.  True,  you  have  had  a  hard  time  here,  and 
once  in  awhile  I  have  been  severe  on  you.  But  it  was  for 
your  good.  I  could  have  made  it  easier  for  you,  but  it  would 
not  have  been  for  the  best.  Luxuries  never  develop  the 
strength  of  a  man,  and  smooth  seas  are  not  the  training  schools 
for  sturdy  sailors.  Privation,  hardship  and  the  stress  of  per- 
sonal responsibility  are  the  tests  of  character.  The  man  whose 
will-power  and  determination  enable  him  to  master  self  and 
to  triumph  over  difficulties  is  the  man  who  has  an  open  sea 
before  him.  Such  a  man  never  fails  to  make  the  landing, 
despite  the  storm  and  the  tempest.  I  could  have  helped  you 
more  and  made  your  burden  lighter,  but  that  is  not  my  idea 
in  the  training  of  a  boy. 

"Now  you  are  through  with  me,  but  your  real  work  is  only 
begun.  You  have  laid  the  foundation  and  you  are  prepared 
to  become  the  architect  of  your  own  fortune.  You  now  have 
a  proper  idea  of  the  task  ahead  of  you.  You  have  been,  in 
the  main,  faithful  and  conscientious  under  my  tuition,  and  if 
you  practice  the  same  principles  in  the  future  you  ought  to 
be  able  to  make  a  man  out  of  yourself.  In  after  life  I  trust 
that  you  will  often  revert  to  your  experience  at  Student's 
Home  and  think  well  of  me.  I  have  done  the  best  I  could  for 
you.     God  bless  you ;  good-bye." 


My  Last  Year  With  Professor  Bnrkett  155 

With  mingled  feelings  of  sadness  and  joy  I  flung  my  old 
grip  across  my  shoulder  and  pulled  out  up  the  lane  and  over 
the  hills  toward  home. 

When  I  reached  the  crest  from  which  I  first  had  that  man 
to  point  out  Student's  Home  to  me  that  late  September  even- 
ing, nearly  three  years  before,  I  halted  and  looked  back  over 
the  scene.  It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  and  all  nature  was 
rejoicing  in  the  new-born  spring.  The  house  and  the  farm 
were  in  full  view.  I  could  even  see  the  pensive  pine  thicket 
where  my  little  old  shack  was  snugly  ensconced.  What  a 
change  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  my  dream  since  the  time 
I  first  stood  there  and  looked  over  the  autumn  panorama !  I 
had  made  tracks  on  every  inch  of  that  little  farm.  I  had 
either  stuck  a  plow  or  a  hoe  or  a  spade  in  almost  every  foot 
of  it.  I  had  rebuilt  many  of  its  fences ;  I  had  worked  its 
successive  crops,  grubbed  up  its  sprouts,  cut  its  wheat  and 
oats,  planted  apple  trees  and  peach  trees,  had  cultivated  the 
flowers  and  shrubbery  in  its  yard.  Yes,  I  was  as  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  of  it  as  I  was  with  my  own  spirit.  . 

In  turn  for  all  that  I  had  mastered  the  training  necessary 
to  enable  me  to  develop  and  cultivate  whatever  there  was  of 
good  in  my  being,  and  the  thought  gave  me  a  measure  of 
satisfaction.  But  had  I  known  when  I  stood  there  the  few 
years  before  all  that  I  had  found  out  in  the  meantime,  would 
I  have  had  the  courage  to  undertake  it?  I  doubt  it  very  seri- 
ously. It  is  fortunate  for  us  that  the  future  holds  its  own 
secrets  and  steadily  refuses  to  divulge  them  to  us  until  we 
are  prepared  for  them.  This  is  a  wise  provision  of  Provi- 
dence. Memory  holds  for  us  in  sacred  trust  the  records  of 
the  past  and  hope  holds  out  the  inducements  of  the  future, 
and  thus  it  is  that  we  live  one  day,  one  hour,  one  moment 
only  at  a  time.     Therefore  we  are  inspired  to  press  forward 


156  The  Story  of  My  Life 

toward  the  dawn  of  the  unborn  years  with  desire  and  expecta- 
tion for  the  best  they  l^eep  in  store  for  us.  Otherwise  we 
would  give  up  the  struggle  in  despair  and  drop  by  the  way- 
side. As  it  is,  under  this  Providential  arrangement  we  live 
day  by  day  and  strive  to  make  the  most  of  our  opportunity. 
I  am  so  glad  that  the  future  keeps  its  secrets. 

I  awoke  from  these  hillcrest  reveries,  mopped  the  gathering 
perspiration  from  my  brow  and  again  quickened  by  footsteps. 
Since  then  nearly  forty-five  years  have  swept  by,  but  the  pic- 
ture then  sketched  upon  the  canvas  of  my  memory,  instinct 
with  life  and  splendid  in  the  charm  and  beauty  of  its  delicate 
colorings,  is  hanging  before  me  to-day  untarnished  by  the 
mildew  of  time  and  undimmed  by  the  alternations  of  the  sun- 
shine and  shadow  of  those  passing  years. 

Toward  nightfall  I  called  at  an  old-fashioned  farmhouse 
and  spent  the  night  with  friends  who  lived  near  where  I  tried 
to  preach  my  first  sermon.  It  was  a  comfortable  home  and  I 
was  accorded  a  warm  welcome.  The  gentleman  and  his  wife 
had  expressed  an  abiding  interest  in  me  two  years  before,  and 
it  was  delightful  to  be  their  guest.  The  family  worship  that 
evening  was  tender  and  full  of  spiritual  unction.  There  is  no 
hospitality  like  that  of  the  old  country  home  of  other  days. 
It  has  nearly  disappeared,  but  then  it  was  one  of  the  glories 
of  our  humanity.  The  doors  were  thrown  wide  open,  the  best 
that  the  farm  afforded  was  upon  the  table,  the  royal  old  feather 
beds  and  the  sincere  good-will  of  the  household ;  it  made  life 
worth  living  to  spend  a  night  in  that  sort  of  a  home.  What 
a  night  of  rest  to  my  tired  body  and  depleted  energy !  It  was 
the  essence  of  luxury.  No  anxious  thought,  no  harassing  fear, 
no  impending  lessons,  no  scant  table,  no  dingy  hut,  no  bugle 
to  arouse  me  from  slumber  at  four  in  the  morning!  It  was 
like  a  dream  of  the  better  world.     It  was  rest. 


My  Last  Year  With  Professor  Burkett  157 

Then  the  welcome  home.  Was  it  not  glorious  ?  I  had  only 
been  there  once  in  those  long  busy  three  years.  To  look  into 
mother's  face,  to  see  the  tears  of  gladness  course  down  her 
withered  cheeks,  to  behold  her  smile  and  to  hear  her  voice 
was  like  getting  back  to  the  promised  land.  We  talked  away 
into  the  night,  and  the  next  morning  I  was  ready  to  go  to  the 
field.  But  no,  my  pallid  face  and  my  thin  form  and  wasted 
strength,  in  mother's  esteem,  needed  some  days  of  sur- 
cease from  toil.  I  had  to  take  life  easy  for  awhile.  That  was 
her  order  and  I  obeyed.  But  the  thought  of  being  at  home 
once  more,  with  loved  ones  about  me,  was  almost  too  good 
to  be  true. 


Chapter  XII 

A  Country  School  and  My  First 
Conference 

Rest  from  labor  for  a  season  is  a  sound  policy.  It  gives 
the  tired  body  and  exhausted  nerves  not  only  an  opportunity 
to  unbend,  but  also  to  regain  their  resilience  with  new  vigor 
and  elasticity.  No  human  spirit,  however  blithesome  and  alert, 
can  mantain  its  strength  and  power  of  exertion  under  the 
pressure  of  incessant  strain  in  one  direction.  Variety  is  the 
spice  of  life  in  all  active  pursuits,  as  well  as  in  social  recreation 
and  diversions.  It  rehabilitates  the  system,  exhilarates  the 
mind  and  spirit  and  it  restores  the  fagging  energies.  It  intro- 
duces into  the  tenor  of  routine  duties  an  element  of  relish  and 
it  scatters  along  the  dreary  pathway  of  monotony  the  warmth 
and  radiance  of  sunshine.  Neither  absolute  rest  nor  persistent 
and  unremitting  toil  is  the  best  for  the  human  organism. 

The  best  type  of  rest  is  found  in  a  change  from  one  de- 
partment of  activity  to  another.  It  is  this  that  brings  profitable 
relaxation  to  the  tired  body  and  the  overtaxed  mind.  Life  is 
real  and  earnest,  and  there  is  no  provision  made  for  elegant 
leisure  within  the  sphere  of  an  aspiring  spirit.  Persistent 
effort  along  some  department  is  one  of  the  fundamental  con- 
ditions of  development  and  progress.  It  is  a  principle  demon- 
strated in  the  history  of  mankind  that  if  the  stream  of  life  is 
allowed  to  stand  still,  even  for  a  limited  time,  it  will  stagnate 


A  Country  School. and  My  First  Conference  159 

and  produce  mental  disease  and  moral  weakness ;  but  if  per- 
mitted to  flow  on  in  some  well-selected  channel  it  will  increase 
in  capacity  and  strength  and  retain  its  freshness  and  purity 
even  to  the  period  of  old  age  and  feebleness.  Under  such 
conditions  life  reaches  its  highest  altitudes  and  invests  its 
energies  and  efforts  to  the  best  and  noblest  advantage. 

Therefore  after  the  intervening  of  a  few  weeks  I  was  not 
content. to  remain  inactive  at  home.  It  did  not  require  very 
long  for  my  physical  condition  to  take  a  rebound,  and  I  was 
ready  for  some  active  employment.  The  growing  crop  did 
not  need  me,  so  I  started  out  to  find  some  order  of  employ- 
ment. I  went  into  a  remote  section  of  the  county  and  applied 
for  and  obtained  a  country  school.  It  was  a  five  months'  public 
school.  It  was  in  a  community  where  school  teaching  had  been 
the  bane  of  the  ordinary  teacher's  existence.  It  was  in  a  very 
good  community  of  farming  people,  where  there  were  quite  a 
large  number  of  grown-up  young  people.  They  were  not  only 
backward  in  matters  of  education,  but  they  were  strangers  to 
home  discipline  and  control.  They  had  been  permitted  to  have 
their  own  way,  and  they  were  hostile  toward  school  govern- 
ment and  restraints.  As  an  invariable  result  teachers  had  a 
hard  row  of  stumps  in  that  school  district.  Many  of  the 
parents  gave  them  no  co-operation,  but  took  the  part  of  their 
refractory  children.  I  was  apprised  of  this  state  of  things 
when  I  accepted  the  school,  and  the  local  board  put  me  on 
notice  that  I  was  chosen  with  a  view  of  not  only  teaching 
that  school,  but  of  controlling  it ;  they  were  tired  of  the  failures 
that  had  been  made  by  my  predecessors.  I  faithfully  promised 
them  that  if  they  would  stand  by  me  there  would  be  discipline 
in  that  school  and  that  its  rules  would  be  enforced  to  the 
letter.    They  gave  their  pledge. 

The  first  morning  that  school  opened  there  were  about  sixty 


160  The  Story  of  My  Life 

present,  and  I  proceeded  to  organize  the  work  and  to  classify 
the  students.  It  took  pretty  much  all  day.  Then  I  laid  down 
a  few  simple  rules  and  put  them  on  notice  that  I  was  there 
to  do  them  all  the  good  possible  and  to  aid  them  in  getting  a 
reasonable  knowledge  of  the  books  to  be  studied ;  that  I  would 
expect  every  boy  and  girl  to  do  his  or  her  duty,  not  only  in 
preparing  the  lessons,  but  in  aiding  me  to  control  the  school ; 
for  there  could  be  no  school  without  obedience  and  dis- 
cipline. I  wanted  to  love  all  of  them  and  I  wanted  them  to 
love  me,  but  I  was  the  teacher  and  had  to  be  respected  ac- 
cordingly. 

After  a  few  weeks  I  soon  detected  the  few  larger  boys  and 
girls  who  were  not  in  school  for  study,  but  for  mischief;  and, 
as  I  was  a  young  fellow,  they  would  make  a  rough  house  for 
me  whenever  they  saw  proper.  I  sniffed  trouble  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  that  school  and  determined  to  meet  it  firmly  and  with- 
out wavering.  There  were  two  who  were  the  leaders — a  large 
boy  and  a  large  girl.  They  were  neighborhood  sweethearts. 
The  boy  was  named  Morgan,  and  he  was  a  strapping  big 
country  bully ;  the  girl  was  named  Missouri,  and  she  was  about 
seventeen,  haughty  and  disrespectful.  I  bore  with  them  pa- 
tiently and  good  humoredly  and  tried  all  my  powers  of  moral 
suasion. 

Instead  of  this  accomplishing  the  desired  result  it  seemed  to 
impress  them  with  the  belief  that  I  was  afraid  of  them  and 
was  doing  my  best  to  avoid  trouble.  I  concluded  at  once  to 
disabuse  their  innocent  minds.  So  that  morning,  on  the  way 
to  school,  I  provided  myself  with  two  or  three  good  hickories 
and  put  them  in  a  conspicuous  place  near  where  I  sat.  I  hoped 
that  the  sight  of  them  would  have  some  restraining  effect  and 
supersede  the  necessity  of  their  use.  As  the  youngsters  filed 
in  they  eyed  those  new  pieces  of  extra  furniture  with  a  good 


A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  161 

deal  of  curiosity  and  I  saw  Morgan  wink  at  Missouri.  It  was 
not  long  until  her  willfulness  manifested  itself.  I  called  her 
up  before  me  and  my  tone  of  voice  and  manner  indicated  to 
her  that  I  meant  business. 

I  said  to  her:  "You  are  too  large  to  whip;  you  are  nearly 
a  grown  young  woman.  But  you  seem  determined  not  to 
keep  the  rules  of  this  school.  Now  you  take  this  note  and 
go  home  and  give  it  to  your  father  and  mother.  It  will  tell 
them  exactly  the  state  of  your  case.  If  they  do  not  keep  you 
at  home,  but  send  you  back  here,  then  you  will  either  obey 
me  or  you  will  take  the  consequences.  I  am  going  to  run  this 
school  if  I  have  to  thrash  every  boy  and  girl  in  it." 

She  rather  demurred,  but  I  would  take  no  protest  or  promise 
from  her.  The  next  morning  she  returned  and  brought  a  note 
from  her  father  telling  me  to  make  her  behave  and  that  she 
had  been  put  under  me  for  that  purpose. 

For  a  week  she  and  Morgan  were  reasonably  civil,  but  evi- 
dently they  held  a  council  of  war  and  agreed  to  break  the 
truce.  One  afternoon,  just  before  the  hour  for  closing  and 
without  any  apparent  provocation,  she  got  into  one  of  her 
tantrums  and  threw  the  whole  school  into  confusion.  I  gath- 
ered up  one  of  those  well-seasoned  switches,  gave  her  the  left 
hand  of  fellowship  and  the  way  I  made  the  dust  fly  from  her 
thin  shirtwaist  was  a  sight  to  behold.  When  I  had  finished 
the  job  she  was  in  tears  and  moans.  Morgan  at  once  arose 
and  said  he  would  see  me  just  as  soon  as  school  closed.  I 
picked  up  a  bench  leg  and  as  I  made  at  him  I  remarked  that 
he  would  not  be  put  to  the  trouble  of  seeing  me  when  school 
closed;  that  I  would  see  him  on  the  spot.  He  made  tracks 
from  the  house  before  I  got  a  single  blow  at  him.  Then  I 
reduced  the  confusion  to  order,  for  it  was  general  by  this  time. 
The  larger  pupils  looked  amazed  and  the  smaller  ones  were 


1 62 


The  Story  of  My  Life 


My  Method  of  Reducing  a  Country  School  to  Discipline. 


A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  163 

frightened  out  of  their  wits.  I  told  them  that  school  would 
promptly  open  the  next  morning  and  that  I  was  prepared  to 
hold  the  fort  against  all  comers. 

The  news  spread  that  night  throughout  the  whole  com- 
munity and  the  next  morning  the  members  of  my  board  called 
on  me  to  know  the  cause  of  the  difficulty.  I  laid  the  facts 
before  them  and  they  not  only  authorized  the  expulsion  of 
Morgan  and  Missouri,  but  voted  me  a  resolution  of  thanks 
for  my  timely  effort  to  run  that  school.  My  fame  as  a  school- 
teacher spread  for  miles  and  my  name  was  on  nearly  every- 
body's lips.  They  had  never  known  anything  just  like  it,  and 
I  awoke  to  find  myself  a  hero.  I  had  no  semblance  of  trouble 
in  that  school  again.  My  discipline  was  tiptop  and  the  order 
fine.  The  County  Superintendent,  who  was  an  able  Cumber- 
land Presbyterian  minister,  congratulated  me  at  the  close  of 
the  term  on  my  success  and  offered  me  nearly  anything  he 
had  in  the  county. 

I  delighted  in  the  school  the  rest  of  the  term.  I  had  some 
bright  boys  and  girls,  and  to  see  them  develop  was  an  in- 
spiration. One  boy  particularly  appealed  to  me.  He  was  about 
fifteen  years  old,  but  rather  small  for  his  age.  He  was  as 
bright  as  a  dollar.  I  used  to  go  home  with  him  to  spend  the 
night  and  would  give  him  extra  help  in  his  work.  Along  to- 
ward the  close  of  the  school  I  said  to  him  one  day:  "Bob, 
school  will  soon  close  and  I  do  not  want  you  to  stop  your 
studies.  You  are  gifted  and  will  make  a  scholar  some  day. 
Your  father  is  able  to  send  you  off  to  school  and  give  you  a 
chance,  and  I  am  going  to  talk  to  him  about  it  before  I  leave 
the  neighborhood.     What  do  you  think  about  it?" 

He.  looked  at  me  seriously  and  replied:  "Professor,  I  do 
not  want  to  go  to  school  any  more.  I  have  learned  enough  to 
attend  to  business,  and  I  am  not  going  to  make  a  scholar;  I 


164  The  Story  of  My  Life 

want  to  make  money.  I  can  read  and  write  and  figure  very 
well,  and  to  be  a  money-maker  I  don't  need  any  more 
schooling." 

Well,  that  settled  it.  Whenever  a  boy  of  that  age  makes 
up  his  mind  and  fixes  the  standard  of  his  ambition,  it  is  my 
experience  and  observation  that  you  had  just  as  well  let  him 
alone.  And  it  is  also  true  that  no  boy  rises  higher  than  the 
ideal  he  places  before  him.  So  Bob  had  all  the  learning  he 
wanted,  and  no  more  school  for  him. 

Years  went  by ;  I  had  been  to  college  and  was  a  member  of 
the  conference,  and  stationed  in  a  city  Church.  To  my  sur- 
prise I  found  Bob  one  of  my  members.  He  had  accomplished 
his  undertaking;  he  had  made  money  and  was  worth  about 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars ;  but  that  told  the  tale.  He  was 
not  worth  anything  else  to  himself  or  anybody  else.  He  had 
buried  his  talent,  all  his  talent  except  money-making,  and  that 
had  grown  into  a  sort  of  morbid  disease.  He  never  amounted 
to  much  in  the  race  of  life.  He  passed  away  many  years  ago 
and  his  name  is  now  practically  forgotten.  His  ideal  was  low 
and  groveling  and  his  ambition  and  life  never  rose  above  it. 

While  teaching  that  school  I  boarded  with  Uncle  Sam  Con- 
nally.  Me  was  a  fine  old  country  gentleman,  not  educated,  but 
sensible  and  a  good  citizen.  His  wife  was  equally  as  fine  an 
old  lady.  They  became  attached  to  me  and  I  to  them.  They 
both  called  me  by  my  given  name.  When  the  war  began  they 
had  five  boys  and  every  one  of  them  was  killed  in  battle.  Not 
one  came  back  to  comfort  the  old  people.  One  of  them  left 
a  young  widow  and  two  pretty  little  girls,  and  they  all  lived 
with  Uncle  Sam.  The  little  girls  were  six  and  eight  years  of 
age.  They  went  to  school  to  me.  The  young  widow  was  beau- 
tiful and  attractive,  but  she  was  four  or  five  years  older  than 


A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  165 

myself.  At  this  juncture  there  occurred  an  embarrassing 
though  somewhat  amusing  incident. 

One  Sunday  morning  in  early  October  there  was  no  Church 
service  in  the  community  and  Uncle  Sam  invited  me  to  take  a 
walk  with  him  down  the  creek  to  his  other  farm.  He  had  a 
good  one  where  he  was  living,  and  the  second  one  was  two 
miles  below.  It  was  not  long  until  we  had  passed  through  the 
gate  on  his  lower  farm,  and  we  walked  extensively  over  it.  It 
was  a  fine  body  of  land  and  the  brown  corn  and  the  opening 
cotton  looked  inviting.  Uncle  Sam  was  a  good  farmer,  though 
he  was  getting  along  in  years. 

After  awhile  we  were  tired  and  climbed  upon  the  fence  to 
take  a  rest.  We  were  sitting  there  talking  and  directly  the 
blunt  old  man  turned  to  me  and  said:  "George,  I  am  gettin' 
old  and  so  is  the  old  'oman.  I've  wore  myself  out  farmin'  and 
I'll  soon  have  to  quit.  I've  got  these  two  good  farms  and 
have  nobody  to  leave  'em  to  but  Molly  and  the  two  children. 
They  can't  manage  'em.  Now  why  can't  you  and  Molly  come 
to  an  understandin' ?  It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  her  and 
the  children  and  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  you,  too.  Not 
every  poor  young  man  has  a  prospect  like  that." 

I  pulled  on  my  studying  cap,  for  I  wanted  to  be  particular 
about  my  answer.  I  appreciated  the  young  widow  as  a  friend, 
but  had  never  thought  of  anything  else,  and  I  liked  her  two 
little  girls.  I  did  not  want  to  hurt  Uncle  Sam,  and  yet  I 
was  not  prepared  to  accept  his  generous  proposition.  Marry- 
ing at  that  time  was  far  from  my  thoughts.  There  had  been 
nothing  in  my  conduct  toward  the  young  widow,  or  in  her  con- 
duct toward  me,  to  justify  Uncle  Sam  in  trying  to  close  out  a 
deal  of  that  sort  between  us.  It  was  a  cold-blooded  business 
proposition  pure  and  simple  that  he  had  made  to  me.  I  had  to 
be  adroit  and  diplomatic  in  my  reply.    I  had  to  save  his  friend- 


1 66  The  Story  of  My  Life 

ship  for  me  and  I  had  to  save  myself  from  the  situation  he 
was  about  to  thrust  upon  me. 

So  I  opened  my  mouth  slowly  and  deliberately  and  spoke 
thusly:  "Uncle  Sam,  I  had  not  thought  seriously  about  an 
arrangement  of  that  kind ;  I  have  been  so  busy  with  my  school. 
I  see  two  possible  barriers  to  that  plan.  In  the  first  place,  I 
am  not  through  with  my  education.  I  have  about  three,  pos- 
sibly four,  years  ahead  of  me  yet  to  devote  to  education.  It 
would  hardly  be  the  proper  thing  to  enter  into  such  an  under- 
standing until  I  finish  going  to  school.  Then,  in  the  next  place, 
I  have  an  idea  how  such  a  proposition  as  that  would  strike 
Miss  Molly.  I  do  not  believe  that  she  would  take  to  it  at  all. 
Hence  it  would  be  better  to  go  slow  in  any  plans  of  that  sort. 
Women  are  sometimes  peculiar,  and  if  she  should  find  out 
that  you  and  myself  were  negotiating  a  contract  of  that  kind, 
and  not  even  consulting  her  about  it,  I  am  sure  that  she  would 
resent  it;  and  then  you  and  myself  would  be  in  a  very  embar- 
rassing attitude  toward  her." 

Uncle  Sam  was  rather  guileless,  and  he  looked  at  the  matter 
from  such  a  practical  standpoint  that  he  was  urgent,  and  he 
assured  me  that  he  was  confident  it  would  be  all  right  with 
Molly.  He  suggested  that  I  take  the  proposition  under  ad- 
visement and  to  think  of  it  seriously.  It  was  a  fine  opportunity 
for  me,  and  it  would  solve  his  and  his  good  wife's  problems. 
In  this  way  I  disposed  of  the  matter,  and  it  is  my  impression 
that  the  young  widow  never  heard  of  Uncle  Sam's  efifort  to 
bring  about  an  understanding  between  her  and  me ;  for  in  the 
course  of  the  next  year  she  married  a  widower,  and  that  per- 
manently settled  my  part  of  it  without  my  having  to  incur  any 
responsibility. 

During  the  fall  I  aided  our  old  circuit  preacher  in  two  or 
three  meetings,  and  he  was  very  much  impressed  with  my 


A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  167 

promise.  He  was  the  same  man  who  had  taken  up  my  appli- 
cation for  license  to  preach.  His  name  was  Rev.  H.  H.  Porter. 
He  was  a  local  preacher,  but  spent  much  of  his  life  serving  as 
a  supply.  He  was  not  a  man  of  any  special  education.  He  had 
very  good  practical  sense,  had  read  a  number  of  substantial 
books  and  he  was  a  good  hortatory  preacher.  In  revivals  he 
was  excellent.  But  he  was  illiterate  and  not  a  safe  counselor 
for  a  young  minister.  He  did  not  appreciate  the  need  of  an 
education  in  the  ministry.  He  took  my  fluency  for  gifts  and 
my  ability  to  express  myself  for  education.  He  conceived  the 
idea  that  I  was  wonderfully  endowed  and  that  there  were 
but  few  preachers  among  the  younger  men  in  the  conference 
anything  like  my  equal.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  tell  me 
that  I  had  all  the  "larnin'  I  needed" ;  that  sinners  were  rushing 
pell-mell  into  the  bad  place  and  that  I  ought  to  drop  everything 
and  "jump  in  and  try  to  head  'em  off". 

Strange  to  say,  he  just  about  convinced  me  that  what  he 
said  was  true.  I  thought  the  matter  over  prayerfully  and 
when  the  Presiding  Elder  came  to  the  adjoining  charge  I 
dropped  down  there  and  had  a  talk  with  him.  I  told  him  what 
Brother  Porter  was  advising  me  to  do.  He  had  me  to  preach 
that  night  and  the  next  day  told  me  that  the  conference  was 
in  need  of  some  vigorous  young  men ;  that  there  was  a  place 
for  me,  and  that  if  I  concluded  to  make  the  application  to  have 
Brother  Porter  make  the  arrangements  and  it  could  be  attended 
to  at  his  Quarterly  Conference,  which  would  be  in  a  couple  of 
weeks. 

I  reiterated  the  conversation  to  Brother  Porter  and  he  was 
much  pleased.  The  plan  was  completed  to  have  me  ask  the 
Quarterly  Conference  to  recommend  me  to  the  approaching 
session  of  the  North  Georgia  Conference  for  admission  on 
trial.    I  agreed  to  it  with  decided  misgiving.    It  broke  into  all 


168  The  Story  of  My  Life 

my  plans  for  completing  my  education  and  I  feared  the  con- 
ference would  not  take  me  with  only  a  high-school  training. 
I  almost  backed  out  as  the  time  approached  to  make  the  appli- 
cation, but  Brother  Porter  was  very  persistent,  and  there  was 
no  doubt  in  his  mind  whatever  on  the  subject. 

When  the  Quarterly  Conference  convened  my  application 
was  in  order  and  duly  presented.  I  stood  the  examination  with- 
out difficulty  and  retired,  but  I  really  hoped  that  the  members 
of  that  body  would  vote  down  the  application.  When  I  was 
called  in,  however,  Brother  Adams  announced  to  me  that  my 
application  had  been  favorably  acted  upon  and  that  he  would 
hand  me  two  or  three  books  to  read  prior  to  going  to  the  con- 
ference. That  settled  it.  I  was  going  down  to  the  North 
Georgia  Conference  as  an  applicant  for  admission  on  trial  into 
the  traveling  ministry. 

In  the  meantime  I  settled  up  my  school  affairs,  mailed  a 
money-order  to  Professor  Burkett  to  cancel  that  due  bill  left 
in  his  hands,  bought  me  a  brand-new  conference  suit,  the  finest 
one  I  had  ever  put  on  and  had  some  cash  left  in  my  pocket. 
I  preached  somewhere  every  Sunday,  read  the  books  given  to 
me  by  the  elder  and  was  ready  for  conference.  Mother  was 
elated.  It  was  the  proudest  time  of  her  life.  The  idea  of 
having  a  son  in  the  ministry  was  the  consummation  of  her 
wish,  the  fruition  of  all  her  hopes. 

The  time  came  and  I  was  off  for  Athens  to  attend  the  con- 
ference. I  had  never  been  anywhere  much,  and  had  seen 
nothing  beyond  my  little  narrow  horizon.  So  far  as  society 
and  the  delicate  proprieties  of  polite  company  were  concerned 
I  was  totally  lacking  in  such  accomplishments.  I  was  a  raw 
country  youth,  with  the  habits  and  manners  of  rural  life,  only 
three  years  of  training  in  a  plain,  unpretentious  school  and 


A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  169 

rather  awkward  and  uncouth.  I  had  none  of  the  polish  of 
cultivated  and  really  refined  gentlemen  and  ladies. 

We  stopped  over  a  few  hours  in  Atlanta.  That  was  the 
largest  place  I  had  ever  seen  and  I  was  wonderfully  impressed 
with  it.  We  reached  Athens  late  that  afternoon.  A  great 
many  preachers  had  boarded  the  train  and  joined  us.  When 
we  reached  the  Church,  a  very  imposing  one  to  me,  Dr.  E.  W. 
Speer,  the  local  pastor,  was  there  to  assign  us  to  our  homes. 
I  was  read  out  to  Ferdinand  Phinesy.  It  was  some  distance 
to  his  home,  but  when  I  reached  it  my  eyes  were  dazzled.  It 
was  the  finest  home  in  Athens,  situated  in  ample  grounds,  for 
he  was  the  richest  man  in  that  section  of  the  State.  He  had  a 
number  of  ministers  as  his  guests,  but  outside  of  Dr.  A.  T. 
Mann,  a  very  distinguished  preacher,  the  rest  of  us  were  mem- 
bers of  the  rural  route  delivery  class.  We  were  good  and  true, 
but  we  did  not  know  much  and  we  had  never  been  accustomed 
to  quarters  and  style  like  we  found  in  that  palace.  I  was  al- 
ways a  close  observer  and  rather  cautious  in  my  movements 
when  not  certain  of  my  ground,  so  I  noticed  those  who  were 
at  ease  in  the  home  and,  by  and  by,  caught  on  to  the  ways 
of  the  household. 

Mr.  Phinesy  was  an  elegant  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 
He  had  old  ideas  of  Church  work  and  service.  He  was  a 
great  admirer  of  Bishop  Pierce  and  accepted  his  views  of 
things.  He  was  opposed  to  organs  in  the  Church,  and  had  no 
patience  with  paid  choirs  and  solos.  Hence  he  had  moved 
his  attendance  from  the  big  Church,  where  these  things  were 
in  vogue,  and  placed  it  in  a  small  mission  Church  not  far 
from  his  residence.  Has  family,  however,  attended  uptown. 
He  had  a  number  of  his  old  ex-slaves  living  in  their  old  well- 
built  and  whitewashed  houses.  They  were  the  aged,  the 
maimed,  the  halt  and  the  blind;  and  he  supported  them.    He 


17°  The  Story  of  My  Life 

took  the  older  guests  around  to  see  them  and  had  prayers  with 
them.  He  was  a  very  kind  man.  His  wife  was  a  much 
younger  woman  than  himself,  highly  cultivated  and  the  per- 
fection of  refinement.  She  was  as  gracious  and  considerate 
of  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  man  of  some  prominence  instead  of 
being  young  and  inexperienced.  I  sat  next  to  her  at  the  table 
and  she  often  addressed  her  remarks  to  me.  I  have  often 
thought  of  what  a  tactful  hostess  she  was.  Her  son  and 
daughter  were  models.  It  was  one  of  the  finest  homes  of 
wealth  that  it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  enter  and 
abide  within.  It  was  but  a  day  or  two  until  I  felt  as  much 
at  ease  amid  its  splendors  and  gorgeousness  as  though  I  had 
always  been  accustomed   to  it. 

I  took  a  green  young  preacher  friend  with  me  to  dinner 
one  day  and  his  boorishness  greatly  embarrassed  me.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  ways  of  polite  society.  Later  on  he  and 
myself  were  telling  a  circle  of  less  favored  young  men  in 
their  entertainment  of  the  elegance  and  wealth  of  the  home 
where  I  was  stopping  and  one  of  them  said:  "Yes,  I  have 
gotten  on  to  that.  My  host  told  us  about  Phinesy  and  his 
peculiarities.  He  said  that  in  selecting  his  guests  to  entertain 
at  this  conference  he  asked  the  committee  on  entertainment 
to  send  him  Dr.  Mann,  and  then  to  fill  up  his  house  with  the 
odds  and  ends  of  the  conference  not  wanted  by  any  other 
family;  and  I  understand  that  he  has  a  wonderful  aggrega- 
tion under  his  roof.    He  did  not  select  me  and  I  am  glad  of  it." 

That  was  a  stunner,  and  the  more  I  thought  of  the  company 
he  entertained  the  more  I  was  convinced  that  there  was  more 
of  truth  than  humor  in  the  statement.  But  I  enjoyed  that 
home  and  learned  more  of  the  ways  and  manners  of  polite 
society  while  I  remained  with  them  than  I  had  ever  learned 
in  the  previous  experience  of  my  life. 


A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  171 

Now  for  my  conference  examination  for  admission  on  trial. 
I  do  not  remember  but  one  of  the  committeemen,  Rev.  W.  R- 
Foote.  He  did  most  of  the  examining.  He  was  a  highly 
educated  man,  cold  and  distant,  deliberate  and  accurate;  and 
he  took  us  through  a  rigid  process.  I  remember  several  of 
my  classmates.  Among  them  were.  Rev.  T.  R.  Pierce,  a  grad- 
uate of  Emory  College,  nephew  of  Bishop  Pierce,  afterwards 
a  prominent  member  of  the  North  Texas  Conference  and 
my  predecessor  on  the  tripod  of  the  Texas  Christian  Advo- 
cate; W.  P.  Lovejoy,  also  a  graduate  of  Emory  College  and 
the  oldest  member  of  the  class,  and  long  a  leading  Presiding 
Elder  in  his  conference ;  W.  W.  Wordsworth,  a  graduate  of 
Randolph-Macon  College,  who  took  high  rank  in  the  con- 
ference, but  dropped  out  a  few  years  ago ;  J.  D.  Hammond, 
a  graduate  of  the  University  of  the  State  and  afterward  long 
the  Secretary  of  our  General  Board  of  Education ;  and  last 
but  not  least  D.  L.  Anderson,  a  graduate  of  Emory,  who  died 
a  short  time  ago  at  the  head  of  our  great  Chinese  University. 
These  are  some  of  the  men  whom  I  met  in  that  class  and 
there  were  others.  I  looked  at  them,  thought  of  their  fine 
equipment  for  work,  revolved  in  my  mind  the  fine  advantages 
they  had  enjoyed,  and  then  I  thought  of  my  meager 
preparation. 

It  was  not  long  until,  in  my  own  eyes,  I  shriveled  up  into 
the  smallest  specimen  of  a  preacher  who  had  ever  knocked  at 
the  door  of  that  conference  for  admission.  I  became  dis- 
gusted with  myself  and  wondered  why  I  had  permitted  ig- 
norant but  dear  good  old  Brother  Porter  to  persuade  me  to 
take  such  a  step.  I  ought  to  have  followed  the  dictation  of 
my  own  conscience  and  judgment  and  gone  on  to  school  until 
I  was  ready,  in  some  measure,  for  such  a  step ;  but  instead 
of  that  I  had  thrown  my  own  plans  to  the  wind,  and  there  I 


172  The  Story  of  My  Life 

was  in  the  midst  of  that  trained  company  unfit  and  illy  pre- 
pared for  such  grave  responsibilities.  I  could  but  wish  that 
the  conference  would  decline  to  accept  me  and  tell  me  to  go 
back  to  school.  But  if  they  did  take  me  I  would  travel  one 
year,  ask  to  be  discontinued  and  then  pursue  my  original  plan. 
During  the  session  of  the  conference  I  was  all  eyes  and 
ears.  I  saw  and  heard  everything  that  transpired  and  every- 
body that  figured  in  the  proceedings.  It  was  all  a  revelation 
to  me,  and  I  learned  everything  of  which  I  was  capable.  I 
heard  some  distinguished  men  preach.  I  did  not  miss  a 
solitary  sermon.  I  heard  the  renowned  Dr.  Jesse  Boring. 
His  text  was  the  parable  of  Lazarus  and  the  Rich  Man.  He 
was  then  quite  old  and  feeble,  but  the  sermon  was  a  master- 
piece. 

I  heard  Dr.  A.  A.  Lipscomb,  the  celebrated  Protestant 
Methodist  preacher,  and  at  that  time  President  of  the  State 
University.  I  heard  Dr.  J.  B.  McFerrin,  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  in  Methodism.  On  Sunday  morning  I  heard 
Bishop  W.  M.  Wightman,  a  preacher  of  rare  scholarship,  of 
rich  attainments,  of  charming  eloquence,  deep  thought  and 
royal  diction.  He  completely  captivated  me,  and  next  to 
Bishop  Pierce  I  put  him  down  as  one  of  the  greatest  preachers 
I  had  ever  heard.  It  was  my  fortune  to  hear  him  many  times 
in  the  succeeding  years,  but  I  never  found  it  necessary  to 
revise  my  judgment  of  his  ability  as  a  preacher.  He  was 
superlatively  great. 

I  was  received  into  the  conference  on  trial.  A  few  nights 
later  I  sat  in  that  auditorium  for  the  first  time  and  listened 
to  nearly  two  hundred  preachers  receive  their  appointments. 
It  was  a  sublime  spectacle.  I  have  heard  it  hundreds  of  times 
since  then,  and  it  is  still  my  candid  judgment  that  there  is  no 
scene  like  it  anywhere  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  It  chal- 
lenges the  admiration  of  the  world  in  its  demonstration  of  the 


A  Country  School  and  My  First  Conference  173 

principle  that  consecrated  men  of  education,  the  equals  of 
any  class  under  the  sun,  have  so  yielded  themselves  to  the 
work  of  the  Church  that  they  are  willing  to  surrender  their 
right  to  choose  their  fields  of  labor  and  at  the  single  command 
of  one  man  appointed  to  select  their  fields  for  them  they  sit 
and  cheerfully  listen  to  the  command  to  go,  and,  like  trained 
soldiers,  march  off  to  the  field  of  conquest  without  a  murmur 
or  a  complaint. 

Such  a  thing  is  not  possible  under  any  other  Church  gov- 
ernment in  the  world.  What  an  impression  that  sight  made 
upon  my  plastic  mind !  It  was  simply  sublime.  I  have  wit- 
nessed that  same  scene  a  hundred  times  since  that  night,  and 
in  no  instance  has  it  failed  to  elicit  my  supreme  admiration. 

I  became  so  interested  that  I  actually  forgot  all  about  my- 
self and  about  the  fact  that  I  was  to  become  a  part  of  that 
moving  battalion.  When  the  fact  did  dawn  upon  me  I  did 
not  feel  the  slightest  concern  about  the  place  where  I  was  to 
go.  All  I  wanted  was  a  place  to  work  and  its  location  and 
condition  mattered  no  more  to  me  than  if  I  had  been  a  carrier- 
pigeon  waiting  to  have  the  message  attached  to  its  feet. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  list  the  Dalton  District  was  called 
and  toward  the  last  Tilton  and  Resaca  Mission  was  announced 
and  my  name  read  out  in  connection  with  it.  A  song  was 
sung,  the  benediction  pronounced  and  the  next  morning  we 
began  to  scatter  to  the  four  winds  of  the  conference. 


Chapter  XIII 

My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit 
Walker 

Resaca  is  a  famous  town.  It  occupies  a  large  place  in  his- 
tory. Yet  it  is  only  a  village  on  the  Western  and  Atlantic 
Railway,  fifteen  miles  below  Dalton,  and  located  at  the  point 
where  the  road  crosses  the  Ostenaula  River.  It  has  never 
had  over  three  or  four  hundred  people  living  in  it.  But  its 
fame  lies  in  the  fact  that  there  Sherman,  in  his  march  to  the 
sea,  had  one  of  his  bloody  battles  with  General  Joseph  E. 
Johnston.  Several  hundred  men  fell  there  and  were  buried 
in  crimson  graves.  The  hills  around  the  place  are  still  marked 
with  reminders  of  war.  At  the  time  about  which  I  am  writing 
these  reminders  were  fresh  and  gruesome.  The  trees  were 
splintered  with  shells  and  pierced  with  minie-balls.  A  Con- 
federate cemetery  near  by  tells  where  the  boys  in  gray  are 
sleeping  who  fell  in  that  local  conflict. 

Tilton  was  only  a  few  miles  above  Resaca,  and  these  were 
the  two  prominent  points  in  my  work.  But  it  extended  across 
to  another  valley  through  which  the  old  Selma,  Rome  and 
Dalton  Railway  ran.  Up  and  down  these  two  valleys  and 
across  blackjack  hills  intervening  was  my  mission.  There 
was  not  a  finished  churchhouse  on  the  work.  There  were 
three  frames  that  were  weatherboarded  and  seated,  but  other- 
wise  incomplete   and   they  were  old.     The   reason   that  the 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  175 

ravages  of  war  had  thus  left  them  was  that  they  served  the 
purpose  of  army  hospitals.  One  of  them,  called  Union  Church, 
not  far  from  Resaca,  was  the  scene  of  the  bloodiest  part  of 
the  battle,  and  it  looked  like  it  had  been  struck  by  a  thousand 
minie-balls.  It  was  literally  peppered  with  holes  and  the 
dark  splotches  still  covered  the  floor,  indicating  the  points 
where  many  a  poor  fellow  lay  while  his  life  blood  ebbed  away. 
There  were  several  large  trees  around  it  almost  gnawed  down 
by  the  ravenous  teeth  of  canister  and  shell.  So  my  first 
work  was  rich  in  history  though  poor  in  almost  everything 
else. 

I  went  directly  from  Athens  to  my  work,  and  I  was  ready 
for  service  the  first  Sunday  after  conference.  I  preached  in 
Resaca.  I  had  no  horse  and,  except  when  I  borrowed  one, 
which  was  occasionally,  I  walked  from  one  appointment  to 
another.  I  was  not  a  circuit  rider,  but  a  circuit  walker.  I 
secured  board  in  the  good  home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  J.  H. 
Barnett,  members  of  my  Resaca  society.  I  was  there  semi- 
occasionally,  and  they  declined  to  receive  a  cent  from  me. 
It  was  well,  for  I  had  the  fewest  number  of  cents  to  invest 
in  board  at  any  time  during  the  year. 

I  spent  the  most  of  my  time  out  on  my  work  among  the 
people.  They  were  mostly  poor  and  had  but  few  accommo- 
dations, but  they  were  hospitable,  generous  and  kind.  Not 
many  of  them  had  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  war. 
They  did  the  best  they  could  for  me,  but  their  best  was  not 
much. 

One  of  my  appointments  was  called  Cove  City.  Just  why 
the  word  "city"  was  attached  to  it  I  was  never  able  to  under- 
stand. The  cove  was  there  in  all  its  glory,  but  it  was  as 
innocent  of  anything  akin  to  a  city  as  one  can  imagine.  The 
railroad  passed  the  place  and  it  was  a  sort  of  a  flag  station, 


176  The  Story  of  My  Life 

but  there  was  no  town  or  village.  The  church  was  on  the  hill 
and  it  was  a  log  building.  The  logs  were  hewed  and  spliced 
and  the  building  was  long  and  not  very  wide.  It  had  two 
doors,  one  in  the  end  and  the  other  in  the  side,  though  the 
side  one  was  nailed  tight.  It  had  very  rough  and  uncom- 
fortable seats,  a  big  jam  in  one  end  for  a  fireplace  and  big 
cracks  between  the  logs  of  the  structure.  In  the  other  side 
there  was  an  old-fashioned  bee-gum  pulpit,  a  sort  of  a  box 
arrangement.  The  top  of  it  was  nearly  to  my  neck.  It  had 
one  open  end  and  that  was  where  you  entered  it,  and  on  the 
inside  was  a  rude  bench  for  the  benefit  of  the  preacher.  In 
the  back  of  the  pulpit  in  the  wall  there  was  an  open  window 
with  no  shutter  of  any  character.  The  people  entered  the 
house  from  the  end. 

My  first  appointment  at  that  place  was  late  in  November 
and  it  was  a  raw,  chilly  day.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  wide- 
open  old  fireplace.  The  blast  was  coming  through  the  cracks 
in  the  walls  uncomfortably.  But  a  large  congregation  came 
out,  not  simply  to  the  service,  but  to  size  up  the  sort  of  a 
preacher  the  conference  had  sent  them.  It  was  a  trying  time 
for  me,  for  my  effort  was  to  be  a  sort  of  a  trial  sermon. 
At  least  it  was  an  initial  sermon,  and  the  good  I  was  to  do 
depended  very  much  upon  the  impression  I  made  in  the  be- 
ginning. They  had  never  seen  me  before  or  heard  tell  of 
me  until  I  was  assigned  to  the  charge.  But  they  were  just 
as  new  to  me  as  I  was  to  them,  so  they  did  not  have  much 
advantage  of  me  in  that  respect. 

I  was  on  hand  early  and  seated  in  the  pulpit.  From  the 
opening  in  the  end  of  the  pulpit  I  could  see  the  people  as 
they  entered  and  they  could  see  me.  I  sat  there  and  watched 
them  as  they  passed  in,  and  they  cast  their  eyes  at  me.    Among 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  177 

them  I  noted  an  old  woman.  She  was  tall,  angular,  loosely 
constructed  in  form,  with  grizzled  thick  hair  piled  about  her 
head,  an  old  wrinkled  face  with  a  weather-beaten  expression ; 
and  she  was  clad  in  a  faded  green  calico  dress,  and  the  rem- 
nant of  a  lady's  straw  hat  was  in  her  hand.  As  soon  as  I 
beheld  her  I  recognized  in  her  a  personality  all  to  herself. 
I  felt  confident  that  if  she  had  never  been  born  the  world 
would  have  been  minus  her  presence. 

When  she  stepped  upon  the  doorsill  she  dropped  her  old 
steel-gray  eyes  upon  me  and  for  a  moment  looked  me  through. 
She  tossed  her  head  slightly,  walked  by  the  pulpit  and  took 
her  seat  in  the  north  corner  of  the  room  where  she  could 
lean  back  against  the  wall.  I  went  through  the  preliminaries 
and  took  my  text  and  began  operation.  It  was  a  text  which 
I  have  since  found  out  that  I  did  not  understand,  but  it  af- 
forded me  a  basis  for  extended  remarks.  I  used  it  a  little 
like  a  cowboy  uses  a  stob  to  which  he  fastens  his  lariat  when 
he  wants  his  pony  to  graze.  It  gives  him  latitude.  So  I 
fastened  on  to  that  text  and  grazed  about  it  from  all  points 
of  the  compass.  What  I  lacked  in  my  knowledge  of  it  I  more 
than  made  up  in  the  length  of  time  I  worked  at  it.  Of  course 
the  exercise  soon  warmed  me  up  and  I  was  unconscious  of 
the  cold  wind  pouring  through  those  capacious  openings. 

Then  it  was  that  my  old  woman  friend  reminded  me  of  m) 
surroundings.  Right  in  the  midst  of  my  climax  she  deliber- 
ately picked  up  her  old  hat  from  the  bench  beside  her,  rose 
to  her  feet  and  started  toward  the  door.  She  looked  like  the 
tallest  woman  I  had  ever  seen.  As  she  reached  a  point  right 
in  front  of  the  pulpit  she  checked  up,  looked  at  me  and  gave 
her  head  a  significant  shake  and  said :  "Now,  lookie  here,  my 
young  man,  ef  you're  a  goin'  to  give  it  to  us  in  that  thar 
style  I'll  be  switched  ef  I  ain't  got  'miff  of  you  jest  right  now". 


178  The  Story  of  My  Life 

And  she  disappeared  through  the  door  and  passed  down  the 
hill.     I  was  not  only  dumbfounded;  I  was  pertified. 

What  she  meant  and  who  she  was  I  had  not  the  remotest 
idea.  Neither  could  I  imagine  what  I  had  done  to  call  forth 
such  a  rebuke.  My,  but  I  felt  spotted!  I  thought  it  possible 
that  I  had  ruined  everything  the  first  pass  out  of  the  box. 
One  thing  certain,  I  was  at  the  end  of  that  discourse,  and  I 
hastily  announced  a  hymn  and  pronounced  the  benediction. 
There  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  under  the  circumstances. 
Thus  my  first  service  at  that  point  ended  disastrously. 

At  the  close  a  one-armed  local  preacher  rushed  round  and 
grasped  my  hand  and  introduced  himself  to  me  as  Brother 
Hickman,  and  said  to  me :  "Do  not  pay  no  attention  to  that 
old  woman.  She's  Aunt  Rachel  Stone.  She's  half  cracked, 
and  nobody  don't  notice  what  she  says  and  does.  We  all 
know  her.  She's  a  good  old  woman.  You  go  to  see  her  to- 
morrow and  it'll  be  all  right."  That  helped  me  up  consider- 
ably. Most  of  the  older  people  came  around  and  spoke  to 
me,  and  a  number  of  them  invited  me  home  with  them. 

Among  those  who  came  forward  was  a  bright-looking  little 
black-eyed  girl,  with  her  hair  like  jet,  with  an  intelligent  face 
and  graceful  movement ;  and  I  knew  she  did  not  belong  to 
that  neighborhood.  She  looked  to  be  about  seventeen  years 
old  and  I  found  out  afterward  that  she  was  a  governess  in 
the  home  of  the  leading  family  in  that  community,  but  her 
home  was  in  Dalton.  Now,  gentle  reader,  keep  your  eye  on 
that  girl,  for  there  will  be  more  of  her  further  on  in  these 
chapters.     She  made  an  impression  on  me. 

The  next  morning  I  made  it  convenient  to  hunt  up  the  home 
of  Aunt  Rachel  Stone.  She  was  one  woman  with  whom  1 
was  anxious  to  make  fair  weather.  I  wanted  her  to  be  ou> 
my  side  ever  afterward.     It  was  not  long  until  I  found  her 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  1 79 


'Ef  that's  the  style  you  are  goin'  to  give  us  I've  got  a  nuff 
of  you  right  now!" 


180  The  Story  of  My  Life 

house.  It  was  a  homely  structure,  small  and  unprepossessing. 
I  knocked  on  the  door  and  directly  she  appeared,  threw  the 
door  open,  had  a  pair  of  large  octagonal  brass-rimmed  specks 
resting  above  her  eyes  upon  her  wrinkled  forehead. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  me  she  laughed  and  said :  "Why,  it's 
our  young  preacher!  I'm  shore  glad  to  see  you.  I  heard  ye 
yisterday;  but,  chile,  I  was  too  much  froze  to  listen  to  sich 
preachin'  as  that.  Come  right  long  in ;  I  want  to  talk  with 
ye."  The  welcome  thus  accorded  me  put  me  on  good  terms 
with  her  and  for  an  hour  I  sat  by  her  cozy  fire  and  talked 

I  soon  found  that  she  was  not  nearly  so  half  cracked  as 
Brother  Hickman  had  given  me  to  understand.  The  fact  is, 
she  was  naturally  one  of  the  brightest  women  in  her  class  I 
ever  met.  She  was  uncouth  and  uncultivated,  and  absolutely 
ignorant  of  the  proprieties  of  life;  but  she  had  dead  loads  of 
good  horse  sense,  and  the  most  original  genius  of  all  my  ac- 
quaintance. I  never  tired  of  hearing  her  talk  when  once  I  suc- 
ceeded in  winding  her  up  and  getting  her  started.  She  could 
say  some  of  the  wittiest  things  and  get  them  off  in  the  most 
unique  way  of  any  woman  whom  I  have  ever  known.  And 
she  had  the  kindest  heart  and  could  fix  some  of  the  most 
palatable  things  to  eat. 

I  have  often  thought  that  if  Charles  Dickens  or  Thackeray 
could  have  gotten  hold  of  Aunt  Rachel  Stone  the  world  to- 
day would  be  under  obligation  to  them  for  a  book  the  rarest 
in  the  history  of  the  literature  of  novels.  There  was  a  wealth 
of  bright  ideas  in  her  old  mind.  They  were  rough  and  un- 
polished just  like  herself,  but  they  were  glittering  even  in 
their  unpolished  brightness.  She  had  the  oddest  way  of  tak- 
ing off  people  whom  she  wished  to  caricature  and  she  could 
characterize  them  in  the  most  unheard-of  expletives  that  ever 
fell  on  mortal  ears. 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  181 

She  was  a  clean  housekeeper ;  she  was  a  good  farmer  and 
plowed  and  hoed  and  gathered  her  own  crops.  She  had  plenty 
of  everything  about  her  in  the  way  of  homemade  substantials. 
That  visit  made  her  my  fast  friend  and  it  mattered  not  after- 
ward whether  it  was  cold  or  hot  or  whether  I  preached  short 
or  long  Aunt  Rachel  never  again  broke  the  end  off  of  one 
of  my  sermons. 

There  was  an  old  man,  a  Hardshell  Baptist  preacher,  who 
lived  across  the  mountain  three  or  four  miles  from  Cove  City 
in  a  basin  known  as  the  "Bearpen",  whose  name  was  Jack 
Davis,  and  he  was  a  good  companion  piece  for  Aunt  Rachel. 
He  came  over  one  Sunday  and  preached  at  the  Cove  City 
Church  and  he  made  an  attack  on  the  Methodists.  Among 
other  things  he  said :  "The  Methodists  remind  me,  ah,  of 
a  old  nigger  whose  moster's  old  goose  died,  ah.  He  tole  old 
Zeak  to  take'er  out,  ah,  behine  the  crib  and  bury'er,  ah.  The 
next  mornin'  the  ole  moster  was  out  thar,  ah,  and  seed  the 
ole  goose  a  layin'  thar  with  some  dirt  sprinkled  on  'er  head, 
ah.  He  went  back  and  jumped  on  Zeak,  ah,  and  axed  him 
why  he  did  not  bury  that  thar  goose,  ah?  Zeak  said,  ah,  that 
he  had  sprinkled  some  dirt,  ah,  on  'er  head,  and  that  accordin' 
to  Methodist  baptism  that  was  bein'  buried,  ah." 

That  was  as  far  as  Aunt  Rachel  proposed  to  let  him  proceed 
and  she  arose,  shook  her  fist  at  him  and  shouted :  "Old  Jack 
Davis !  Yo  ole  heart  is  as  rotten  as  one  of  them  old  frostbit 
pumpkins  down  yonder  in  Armstead  Leak's  bottoms !"  And 
she  gave  him  a  wide  berth.  But  that  was  her  way  of  doing. 
When  things  at  Church  did  not  go  to  suit  her  she  rose  and 
spoke  right  out  in  meeting,  it  made  no  difference  who  was 
doing  the  preaching. 

I  had  another  appointment  far  down  the  valley  at  a  Church 
known  as  Sugar  Valley  Church.     It  was  an  old  framed  hull. 


182  The  Story  of  My  Life 

At  one  of  my  appointments  I  announced  that  at  the  next 
Sunday  appointment  at  that  place  we  would  baptize  infants, 
and  that  I  wanted  all  the  children  in  the  neighborhood  that 
had  not  been  baptized  to  be  brought  out  and  we  wculd  have 
them  dedicated  in  baptism.  I  was  unordained,  but  I  arranged 
with  Rev.  T.  J.  Simmons,  a  local  preacher  living  near  Tilton, 
to  go  down  with  me,  preach  the  sermon  and  baptize  the 
infants. 

I  have  never  seen  such  a  crowd  of  urchins  from  three 
months  old  up  to  seven  years.  When  Brother  Simmons  called 
the  parents  with  the  children  around  the  altar  it  brought 
nearly  the  bulk  of  the  congregation. 

I  carried  the  water  around  for  him  and  he  baptized  them 
by  the  score.  Toward  the  close  a  young  mother  who  had  a 
beautiful  little  baby  girl  presented  her  to  the  preacher. 
He  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  said :  "Name  this  child." 
She  thought  a  moment  and  replied :  "I'll  let  Brother  Rankin 
name  her."  It  took  me  so  completely  by  surprise  that  every 
girl  name  that  I  could  remember  at  once  went  out  of  my  mind. 
The  suspense  became  painful,  but  I  recalled  the  name  of  a 
young  lady  who  lived  in  the  community  and  in  my  confusion 
I  said  we  will  name  her  "Miss  Bodie". 

The  congregation  broke  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  for  the  young 
lady  was  present  and  I  had  been  seen  in  her  company  occa- 
sionally. As  soon  as  silence  ensued  Brother  Simmons  bap- 
tized the  child  in  that  name.  It  completely  took  the  breath 
out  of  me,  and  I  did  not  hear  the  last  of  it  in  that  community 
while  I  remained  on  that  mission. 

Three  years  ago  I  was  in  Bell  County,  Texas,  in  a  local 
option  campaign  and  addressed  a  large  massmeeting  in  Temple 
one  Sunday  afternoon.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting  a  gentle- 
man came  around  and  askeu  fnc  ir  ir  nad  ever  preached  in 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  183 

Sugar  Valley,  Georgia.  I  answered  him  in  the  affirmative. 
He  asked  me  if  I  recalled  the  time  when  Brother  Simmons 
baptized  all  those  children  one  Sunday  morning  and  that  at 
the  request  of  one  of  the  mothers  I  named  one  of  the  children 
"Miss  Bodie".  I  told  him  that  I  remembered  the  incident 
very  vividly  though  it  had  been  about  forty  years  ago. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "Miss  Bodie  is  my  wife  and  we  are  living 
out  here  just  about  a  mile."  That  was  the  first  and  the  last 
time  I  ever  named  a  baby  girl  for  its  mother  at  the  time  of 
its  baptism. 

I  had  many  appointments  on  that  charge.  I  preached  in 
the  old  buildings  regularly,  in  the  schoolhouses,  in  the  private 
homes,  and  in  the  summer  under  brush  arbors  and  now  and 
then  in  the  groves.  I  had  many  good  revivals.  I  lived  a 
great  deal  in  the  humble  homes  of  the  people.  I  either  spent 
a  night  or  took  a  meal  with  every  white  family  within  the 
bounds  of  the  work  and  repeated  the  experience  in  many  of 
the  homes. 

I  was  surely  a  traveling  preacher  during  the  whole  of  that 
year.  It  is  useless,  therefore,  to  say  that  I  was  popular  with 
them.  Any  preacher  who  visits  his  people,  lives  among  them, 
sleeps  in  their  beds,  eats  at  their  tables  and  prays  around  their 
firesides  will  be  popular  with  them.  They  will  love  him  and 
stand  by  him  whether  he  is  much  preacher  or  not.  There 
has  not  been  a  year  since  I  have  been  with  the  Advocate  that 
I  have  not  met  one  or  more  of  the  people  whom  I  knew  on 
that  hillside  Georgia  Mission. 

I  did  not  take  up  the  course  of  study  that  year  prescribed 
by  the  conference.  The  reason  was  that  I  had  already  made 
up  my  mind  and  did  it  before  I  left  the  Athens  Conference 
that  at  the  end  of  the  year  I  would  ask  a  discontinuance  and 
return  to  school.    There  was  a  good  school  taught  in  Resaca 


184  The  Story  of  My  Life 

by  a  graduate  of  the  State  University,  and  I  made  arrange* 
ment  with  him  to  recite  at  odd  times  my  Latin  and  Greek, 
and  one  or  two  other  studies,  so  as  not  to  fall  too  far  behind ; 
and  in  this  way  I  made  some  progress  in  my  school  studies. 

It  was  a  busy  year  from  start  to  finish,  and  in  the  main  it 
was  a  happy  year.  Those  people  were  so  good  and  kind  to 
me.  Many  of  them  would  have  been  willing  almost  to  pluck 
out  their  eyes  for  me.  And  among  them  I  found  many  of  the 
truest  and  most  exalted  types  of  Christian  experience  and 
character  that  I  have  ever  known.  It  is  a  fact  that  among 
unsophisticated  and  uneducated  people  it  is  often  true  that 
their  religion  is  more  spiritual  and  Christ-like  than  among 
those  who  mix  the  world  with  their  Church  membership. 

Rev.  W.  J.  Scott,  D.  D.,  was  my  Presiding  Elder.  He  was 
a  large,  fleshy  man  and  his  home  was  in  Atlanta,  but  he  spent 
the  most  of  his  time  on  the  district.  He  was  a  man  of  fine 
literary  attainment.  He  was  a  scholar,  a  reader,  a  profound 
thinker  and  at  times  he  was  sublimely  eloquent  in  his  sermons. 
Take  him  one  discourse  after  another,  he  was  one  of  the  most 
delightful  preachers  I  have  ever  heard.  But  he  was  grouchy 
and  often  disagreeable.  He  could  get  more  enjoyment  out 
of  being  waited  on  than  any  man  I  ever  met.  Whenever  he 
would  come  to  my  Quarterly  Conferences  I  had  to  give  up 
my  time  to  looking  after  his  wants.  He  took  a  great  fancy 
to  me  and  seemed  to  be  fond  of  me,  for  I  left  nothing  undone 
to  make  his  visits  pleasant  to  him. 

I  had  a  funny  experience  with  him  once.  He  wanted  to 
make  a  round  of  three  weeks  away  back  in  the  mountain 
section  of  his  district,  through  Pickens,  Fannin  and  Gilmer 
Counties.  He  arranged  with  Brother  Simmons  to  fill  my 
appointments  and  appointed  me  to  take  charge  of  him  on 
that  round.    It  was  not  a  pleasant  task.    The  best  thing  about 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  185 

it  was  that  I  would  get  to  hear  him  preach  a  great  many 
times.  He  was  afraid  of  a  horse  and  had  mortal  dread  of  a 
dog.  So  I  had  to  get  an  old,  broken-down,  bony  horse  to 
pull  the  buggy.  He  would  not  ride  behind  any  other  sort. 
This  to  me  was  a  positive  affliction.  I  never  did  love  to  drive 
that  kind  of  an  animal.  But  he  was  Elder  and  he  never 
knew  but  that  I  was  delighted.  We  traveled  most  every  day, 
except  Sundays,  and  he  preached  every  night  along  the  route. 

At  one  appointment,  far  out  in  the  mountains,  he  preached 
one  of  his  finest  sermons,  and  right  in  the  midst  of  an  elo- 
quent climax  a  hard-looking  old  mountaineer  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  in  a  stentorian  voice  shouted:  "Wolf  sign!  Wolf 
sign!"  It  nearly  frightened  the  sense  out  of  me  and  it  threw 
Dr.  Scott  completely  off  the  line  of  his  sermon.  It  spoiled 
the  service.  We  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  with  a  splendid 
family,  and  they  told  us  that  the  old  man  was  a  very  religious 
man,  but  a  typical  old  mountain  wolf  hunter,  and  what  he 
meant  by  "wolf  sign"  was  that  there  was  game  close  at  hand. 
That  was  the  way  he  expressed  himself  when  the  services 
reached  a  point  at  which  the  tide  of  religion  began  to  rise 
It  was  his  way  of  shouting. 

But  this  is  not  the  most  amusing  incident.  We  drove  up 
a  long  hill  one  afternoon  and  just  before  we  started  down 
the  next  one,  as  was  his  custom,  Dr.  Scott  had  me  stop  the 
horse  and  he  got  out  and  walked  down.  He  was  afraid  that 
the  harness  might  break  and,  as  he  was  so  large,  he  might 
get  hurt.  He  had  done  this  so  often  that  I  was  getting  tired 
of  it.  So  I  let  the  old  horse  strike  a  trot  and  left  him  some 
distance  behind.  He  had  on  a  tall  silk  hat  and  a  tremendous 
sack  coat  and  his  trousers  were  rather  short.  A  quarter  of 
a  mile  ahead  of  him  the  road  bent  around  a  sort  of  an  elbow 
and  I  saw  a  bench-legged  fice  sitting  there.     I  knew  that 


i86 


The  Story  of  My  Life 


Dr.  W.  F.  Scott,  My  Presiding  Elder,  and  a  Bench-Leg  Fice. 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  187 

when  Dr.  Scott  came  near  with  his  big  hat  and  stepping  high 
the  dog  would  tackle  him.  Just  as  I  turned  the  bend  out  of 
sight  I  whipped  the  old  horse  up  a  trifle.  After  awhile  I 
heard  the  Elder  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice:  "Oh, 
George !  Begone  !  Oh,  George !  Begone !''  Directly  I  looked 
back  and  saw  him  coming  backward  with  the  dog  following 
him  up  and  barking,  and  he  was  punching  at  him  with  that 
silk  hat  and  shouting  for  me.  Finally  the  dog  desisted  and 
the  Elder  came  up  purring  almost  out  of  breath  and  declared 
that  he  had  never  seen  such  a  vicious  brute  in  his  life  and 
that  he  expected  to  be  lacerated  beyond  recognition  by  the 
animal. 

I  got  him  back  into  the  buggy  and  kept  him  there  the  rest 
of  the  trip.  If  at  any  time  he  asked  me  to  let  him  out  I  al- 
ways suggested  that  a  dog  might  be  down  the  hill  and  that 
settled  it  at  once.  On  that  trip  he  held  a  conference  in  Jasper, 
an  old  mountain  town.  There  I  met  Rev.  Fred  Allen  of  the 
Texas  Conference.  He  was  on  a  visit  to  his  sister's  family. 
He  talked  Texas  to  me  until  I  made  up  my  mind  that  if  the 
favorable  time  ever  arrived  I  would  come  to  Texas  and  spend 
the  rest  of  my  ministry. 

That  trip  was  a  great  advantage  to  me.  I  not  only  met  a 
great  many  very  excellent  people,  but  better  still,  it  gave  me 
the  benefit  of  the  company  of  that  great  man  for  three  con- 
secutive weeks.  I  heard  him  preach  a  series  of  great  sermons 
and  it  broadened  my  conception  of  the  gospel  ministry.  I 
engaged  him  in  almost  constant  conversation  on  various  sub- 
jects, and  it  was  like  sitting  at  the  fountain  of  wisdom  and 
deep  experience.  I  felt  like  I  had  been  through  a  school  of 
literature  and  theology.  It  has  always  been  a  treat  to  me  to 
get  in  the  company  of  great  men.  They  have  taught  me  much 
as  a  preacher. 


1 88  The  Story  of  My  Life 

When  I  returned  I  took  up  the  thread  of  my  work  and 
pushed  things  vigorously  through  the  rest  of  the  summer. 
About  that  time  a  brilliant  Baptist  minister  came  within  the 
bounds  of  my  work  and  located  in  the  Sugar  Valley  neigh- 
borhood. He  conducted  a  great  revival  for  them  at  that  point 
and  I  attended  some  of  his  services.  He  was  a  fine  looking 
man  and  as  sharp  as  a  steel  trap.  I  soon  regarded  him  as  a 
marvelous  preacher.  His  elocution  was  superb,  his  voice  per- 
fectly modulated,  his  sermons  well  prepared  and  his  delivery 
was  well-nigh  faultness.  He  was  all  the  rage  in  that 
community. 

I  was  so  impressed  with  him  that  I  arranged  for  him  to 
aid  me  in  two  of  my  meetings.  He  did  so  and  his  preaching 
was  most  acceptable.  I  had  never  heard  a  man  who  could 
equal  him  in  reading  a  hymn.  His  prayers  were  soul-stirring. 
His  appeals  to  the  unconverted  were  almost  irresistible.  He 
was  so  infinitely  beyond  anything  of  which  I  was  capable 
that  I  felt  it  was  almost  a  burlesque  for  me  to  try  to  preach 
when  he  was  present.  There  was  not  a  thing  offensive  in  his 
sermons  to  other  denominations,  and  that  was  something  re- 
markable in  those  times  and  on  my  charge ;  for  a  Baptist 
minister  then  was  usually  noted  for  his  public  abuse  of  the 
Methodists.  But  not  one  unbrotherly  word  fell  from  his  lips. 
He  was  in  deed  and  in  truth  a  genuine  evangelist  in  his  style 
of  ministry. 

He  remained  rather  quietly  in  that  neighborhood  for  two 
months,  •  except  to  preach  occasionally],  after  those  meetings 
closed.  Nobody  could  find  out  anything  about  him,  where  he 
came  from  or  what  was  his  business  among  those  quiet  people. 
He  declined  to  discuss  himself,  his  family  or  his  object  in 
locating  in  Sugar  Valley.  He  excited  a  great  deal  of  curiosity 
and  inquiry;  for  those  people,  as  backward  as  the  most  of 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  189 

them  were,  realized  that  he  was  capable  of  filling  a  much 
more  inviting  sphere.  He  did  not  look  like  any  of  them,  and 
he  dressed  far  beyond  the  style  and  custom  of  his  neighbors. 
However,  his  conduct  was  proper  and  his  manner  of  life  un- 
objectionable. He  was  an  enigma.  As  he  was  a  Baptist 
preacher  I  did  not  give  myself  any  concern  about  these  mat- 
ters. He  was  cordial  to  me  and  his  wife  was  an  elegant  lady. 
They  simply  did  not  fit  into  the  place  they  were  then  occupy- 
ing ,and  that  was  the  only  trouble  about  them. 

One  day  in  the  early  fall  he  borrowed  an  excellent  horse 
and  buggy,  ostensibly  to  make  a  little  trip  into  Tennessee  to 
attend  to  some  business  and  drove  off.  He  had  won  the  con- 
fidence of  the  community  and  the  loan  was  made  to  him  with- 
out a  misgiving.  He  went  alone,  leaving  his  wife  in  the 
house  they  had  rented  as  a  home,  and  was  to  be  back  inside 
of  a  week.  That  was  the  last  ever  heard  of  him.  To  this 
good  day  his  tracks  have  never  been  discovered  I  was  taught 
by  that  incident  that  all  is  rot  gold  that  glitters. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  my  last  Quarterly  Conference  was 
held  at  Cove  City.  The  stewards  made  their  final  settlement 
with  me  and  the  different  sums  footed  up  sixty-three  dollars. 
That  was  the  cash  receipts  for  the  year;  that  is,  for  my  part 
of  the  "quarterage".  But  my  board  had  cost  nothing,  neither 
my  laundry  nor  mending.  The  good  women  had  done  this 
for  me  gladly;  and  I  had  a  grip  full  of  socks,  two  or  three 
pairs  of  yarn  gloves  and  several  old-fashioned  comforters  knit 
and  given  to  me  by  the  girls.  And  I  had  experienced  a  great 
time  holding  meetings,  filling  my  regular  appointments  and 
visiting  among  their  homes  I  was  satisfied  with  the  pay. 
It  was  the  best  they  could  do,  and  I  presume  that  it  was  very 
good  pay  for  the  sort  of  preaching  they  had  received. 

I  drove  Dr.  Scott  into  Dalton  where  he  was  to  take  the 


190  The  Story  of  My  Life 

train  the  next  morning  for  Atlanta,  where  he  lived  and  where 
the  Annual  Conference  was  to  convene  the  Wednesday  fol- 
lowing. At  Dalton  in  the  presence  of  Rev.  George  G.  Smith, 
now  one  of  the  aged  members  of  the  North  Georgia  Confer- 
ence and  a  valued  correspondent  of  the  Texas  Christian  Advo- 
cate, I  told  Dr.  Scott  to  take  my  reports  and  present  them 
to  the  conference  and  ask  for  my  discontinuance ;  that  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  go  back  to  school  and  finish  my  education. 

It  surprised  him  very  much  and  he  pooh-poohed  the  idea.  He 
said  the  conference  needed  young  men  like  myself  and  that  I 
had  made  a  fine  start ;  that  it  was  his  purpose  to  send  me  to 
the  Ringgold  Circuit  the  next  year ;  that  it  would  pay  me  two 
hundred  and  fifty  or  three  hundred  dollars.  I  expressed  my 
appreciation  to  him  for  his  kind  offer,  but  told  him  that  my 
purpose  was  fixed,  my  plans  were  all  made  and  that  it  was  of 
no  use  to  discuss  the  matter  further.  Brother  Smith  told  me 
that  I  was  exactly  right,  that  he  was  surprised  to  hear  Dr. 
Scott  trying  to  dissuade  me  from  so  laudable  a  determination. 
"Go  on  to  school,"  he  said,  "and  both  you  and  the  Church 
will  be  the  gainer." 

I  never  met  Dr.  Scott  but  once  after  that.  Several  years 
had  passed  and  I  had  been  invited  by  the  board  of  First 
Church  in  Atlanta  to  go  down  from  Chattanooga,  where  I 
was  stationed,  to  preach  for  them  one  Sunday  in  the  absence 
of  Dr.  H.  Clay  Morrison,  their  pastor.  Dr.  Scott  was  one  of 
my  auditors,  an  old  and  broken  man  on  the  retired  list.  He 
gave  me  very  close  attention  and  then  came  forward  after 
the  benediction,  took  my  hand  cordially  and  said : 

"Well,  George,  I  am  so  glad  to  have  heard  you  and  to 
meet  you  again.  I  have  kept  up  with  you  and  felt  a  keen 
interest  in  your  progress.  I  guess  you  did  right  when  you 
had  me  to  ask  for  your  discontinuance  as  a  probationer  in  our 


My  First  Experience  as  a  Circuit  Walker  191 

conference  so  that  you  could  go  back  to  school.     I  opposed  it 
at  the  time,  but  you  pursued  the  right  course." 

He  has  long  ago  gone  up  to  the  conference  on  high,  but  I 
have  always  rejoiced  in  the  fact  that  I  spent  that  year  under 
his  administration  as  my  Presiding  Elder.  He  was  a  great 
help  to  me  and  a  real  inspiration  to  become  a  minister  of 
whom  the  Church  would  never  be  ashamed.  He  unconsciously 
became  one  of  my  models,  and  some  of  the  lessons  he  im- 
parted to  me  abide  with  me  still. 


Chapter  XIV 

A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for 
College 

I  remained  at  Resaca  and  entered  the  school  being  taught 
by  a  university  graduate.  Twelve  men  of  the  town,  who  had 
means  and  ambition  for  their  children,  had  put  up  one  hundred 
dollars  apiece  and  paid  him  a  twelve-hundred-dollar  salary  to 
teach.  They  opened  the  doors  of  the  school  to  all  who  wanted 
to  attend.  They  collected  tuition  from  a  few  who  were  able 
to  pay  and  let  the  others  go  free  of  charge.  It  was  a  good 
school. 

Professor  Hodge  was  a  scholar.  He  had  taken  a  university 
course  and  he  was  young  and  ambitious.  He  knew  how  to 
inspire  students  to  study.  He  was  a  good  disciplinarian,  but 
ruled  more  through  kindness  than  otherwise.  He  took  special 
pains  with  me  and  gave  me  a  good  start  in  Greek  and  Latin 
and  Mathematics.  I  had  already  had  the  advantage  of  partial 
training  under  him  the  previous  year  while  I  was  traveling 
that  mission. 

I  took  up  permanent  board  in  the  good  home  of  my  old 
Barnett  friends.  They  would  not  take  a  cent  of  money  from 
me,  but  at  my  earnest  solicitation  they  did  let  me  take  charge 
of  their  barn,  their  woodpile  and  other  little  jobs  about  the 
house  and  premises.  They  treated  me  like  a  son.  Mr.  Barnett 
was  a  man  of  royal  nature  and  genial  disposition.  Mrs.  Bar- 
nett was  a  German  woman  of  the  best  type.  She  did  not 
evince  it  in  her  brogue  or  manner,  for  she  had  been  born  and 


A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for  College  193 

brought  up  in  this  country ;  but  she  did  show  it  in  her  sturdy 
disposition,  her  kindness  of  heart,  her  thriftiness  of  habit  and 
her  incessant  industry.  Her  husband  always  called  her  by 
the  pet  name  of  "Dutchman",  and  she  seemed  to  appreciate  it 
I  put  in  the  whole  year  under  their  roof,  and  better  people  I 
have  never  known.  They  have  both  long  ago  passed  over 
to  a  rich  reward  beyond. 

My  first  open  fight  with  the  saloon  began  that  year.  It 
was  at  Acworth  some  miles  below.  I  attended  a  great  tem- 
perance rally  and  was  one  of  the  principal  speakers.  The 
first  time  I  ever  saw  my  name  in  the  public  prints,  in  any 
extensive  way,  was  the  written  account  of  that  meeting  in 
the  Atlanta  Constitution.  The  account  of  my  part  of  it  was 
not  the  most  complimentary,  but  I  was  recognized  as  2.  factor 
in  the  fight.  And  from  that  time  till  the  present  my  warfare 
upon  the  saloon  has  never  ceased.  I  had  seen  so  much  of  its 
deviltry  even  then  and  since  then  T  have  seen  its  woes,  its 
sorrows,  its  ruin,  its  crime,  its  bloodshed,  written  in  letters 
of  horrible  history  all  along  the  pathway  of  my  observation. 
No  one  man  has  made  the  saloon  pay  a  heavier  toll  for  its 
diabolism  than  myself.  I  have  seen  hundreds  of  them  bite 
the  dust  and  go  out  of  business. 

While  at  this  excellent  school  another  domestic  shadow, 
dark  and  oppressive,  fell  upon  my  heart  and  across  my  path- 
way. My  only  brother,  who  in  the  meantime  had  entered 
school  and  made  wonderful  proficiency,  was  also  in  this  school. 
He  was  stricken  with  illness  and  died.  He  was  eighteen 
years  of  age,  tall,  handsome  and  intellectual.  Had  he  lived  he 
would  have  made  his  mark  at  the  bar.  Early  in  the  morning 
I  was  seated  by  his  bed  where  I  had  been  all  the  long  night 
through.  He  had  been  unconscious;  I  had  longed  for  a 
moment  of  returning  consciousness.    I  wanted  one  more  word 


194  The  Story  of  My  Life 

from  his  manly  lips.  Just  as  day  was  breaking  across  the 
eastern  horizon  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  brightly 
into  my  face.  I  asked  how  it  was  with  him  and  he  responded 
clearly:  "All  right.  I  am  not  afraid  to  go.  You  complete 
your  education  and  devote  your  life  to  the  ministry,  and 
though  absent  in  body  I  will  always  take  an  interest  in  you." 
He  closed  his  eyes,  gasped  a  few  times  and  all  was  over. 
Ah!  a  thousand  times  have  I  thought  of  him  as  the  years  of 
toil  and  burden  and  conflict  have  gone  by  me. 

Along  in  November  of  that  fall,  knowing  that  I  was  going 
to  try  to  enter  college  the  next  autumn,  I  concluded  to  run 
up  to  Chattanooga,  where  the  Holston  Conference  was  in  ses- 
sion, and  meet  Dr.  E.  E.  Wiley,  President  of  Emory  and 
Henry  College,  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  him  and  have  all 
the  arrangements  made  in  advance.  I  wanted  to  graduate  in 
that  old  institution.  It  was  the  greatest  college  in  Southern 
Methodism  at  that  time,  and  it  was  in  the  old  conference 
where  I  was  born  and  brought  up  and  the  one  I  had  deter- 
mined to  enter  when  through  the  high  school. 

It  was  the  second  conference  I  ever  attended.  I  knew  a 
few  of  its  preachers.  They  had  been  in  my  grandmother's 
and  my  father's  home.  Of  course  they  did  not  remember  me, 
but  a  boy  never  forgets  anything.  Bishop  Doggett  was  pre- 
siding. He  was  the  third  Bishop  I  ever  saw.  I  observed 
him  closely.  A  Bishop  was  the  biggest  human  on  earth  in  my 
estimation  in  those  days.  They  were  more  than  human.  I 
still  have  a  great  reverence  for  them,  but  I  have  helped  to 
make  so  many  of  them  since  then  that  I  do  not  regard  them 
with  the  same  awe-inspiring  reverence  that  I  did  in  my  young 
and  impressible  year. 

I  know  them  to  be  great  men,  entrusted  with  great  respon- 
sibility, but  after  all  I  have  learned  that  they  are  simply  men 


A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for  College  195 

like  the  rest  of  us;  and  I  find  them  usually  to  be  brotherly 
and  approachable  just  like  other  consecrated  Methodist  min- 
isters. But  back  in  those  days  I  would  not  have  gone  into 
the  presence  of  one  of  them  with  any  sort  of  familiarity  of 
address  any  more  than  I  would  an  angel.  I  only  stood  or  sat 
at  a  distance  and  looked  at  them  in  wonder  and  astonishment. 
When  they  said  anything  I  heeded  it  as  though  an  oracle  had 
spoken.  It  was  yea  and  amen.  To  hear  one  of  them  preach 
was  the  occasion  of  a  lifetime. 

Bishop  Pierce  had  wonderfully  enrapt  me.  Bishop  Wight- 
man,  though  unlike  Bishop  Pierce  in  appearance  and  style 
of  eloquence,  had  enhanced  my  idea  of  the  sanctity  of  a 
Bishop.  And  there  sat  Bishop  Doggett,  presiding  over  the 
Holston  Conference,  the  equal  of  the  other  two  in  reputation 
and  saintliness.  He  was  tall,  slender  and  stately ;  a  venerable 
face,  a  marvelous  voice  and  an  eye  peculiarly  luminous.  He 
was  the  embodiment  of  the  best  qualities  of  the  old  Virginia 
gentleman ;  imposing,  grand,  majestic,  and  every  inch  a  Bishop, 
whether  in  the  chair,  in  the  social  circle,  on  the  platform  or 
in  the  pulpit.  He  never  seemed  to  unbend  his  dignity  or 
appear  in  any  way  like  a  common  man.  His  utterances  were 
measured  and  his  diction  lofty  at  all  times  and  on  all  occasions. 

When  I  gazed  upon  him  that  morning  as  he  presided  over 
the  deliberations  of  that  body  my  reverence  for  him  was  akin 
to  that  of  a  superhuman  being.  I  would  have  known  he  was 
a  Bishop  anywhere  upon  the  face  of  the  earth.  Yet  it  was 
several  years  before  he  found  out  that  there  was  such  a  man 
in  the  world  as  myself.  And  even  then  I  stood  at  a  respectful 
distance  from  him  in  feeling  and  manner.  So  did  most  every- 
body else.  He  was  Bishop  Doggett,  and  yet  it  was  just  as 
natural  for  him  to  be  such  as  it  was  for  me  to  be  an  ordinary 
Methodist  circuit  rider. 


196  The  Story  of  My  Life 

On  Sunday  miorning  he  preached  his  famous  sermon  on 
"Paul  on  Mars  Hill".  It  was  Ciceronian  in  the  sweep  of  its 
eloquence  and  oratory.  Every  word  fitted  in  its  place  with 
precision  and  every  period  was  polished  and  carved  like  a 
block  of  marble  prepared  for  its  niche  in  the  temple  walls. 
As  a  pulpit  oration  it  was  well-nigh  faultness  in  its  concep- 
tion, its  preparation  and  delivery.  Evidently  it  was  a  memo- 
riter  sermon,  for  I  heard  him  deliver  it  in  later  years  and  he 
did  not  vary  in  a  word,  a  sentence  or  a  climax.  But  it  was 
worth  repeating,  and  it  was  worthy  of  several  hearings.  It 
was  one  of  the  sermons  in  the  lifetime  of  even  a  great 
preacher.  It  had  thought  as  well  as  diction,  and  power  as  well 
as  polish.  It  was  not  a  dead  oration ;  it  was  instinct  with  life 
and  aflame  with  outbursts  of  unction  and  spiritual  fervor. 
It  swept  that  conference  like  a  tempest. 

While  I  am  sketching  Bishop  Doggett  and  his  dignity  as  a 
preacher  and  Bishop  I  will  relate  an  incident  in  my  observa- 
tion of  him  at  a  much  later  period.  I  have  spoken  of  his 
episcopal  bearing  on  all  occasions  and  the  reserve  in  his 
manner  in  private  and  in  public.  This  incident  brought  out 
the  loftiness  of  this  dominant  quality  in  his  character.  He 
was  a  guest  at  Martha  Washington  College  while  the  vener- 
able Dr.  Dupree  was  President.  A  number  of  ministers  and  a 
few  laymen  were  present  to  pay  their  respects  to  him.  He 
was  the  center  of  the  occasion. 

Evening  dinner  was  announced  and  Dr.  Dupree  lead  the 
way  to  the  dining-room.  It  was  in  the  basement  of  the  build- 
ing and  was  reached  by  a  stairway  rather  steep.  Bishop 
Doggett  followed.  When  about  two-thirds  of  the  way  down 
the  stairs  he  caught  his  foot  and  tripped  and  as  he  sank  to 
the  step  it  threw  his  body,  not  severely,  but  rather  gently  for- 
ward and  he  continued  on  down  the  few  remaining  steps  on 


MR.  LOUIS  BLAYLOCR, 

PUBLISHER    OF    THE    TEXAS    CHRISTIAN    ADVOCATE. 


A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for  College  197 

his  hands  and  knees.  As  he  reached  the  bottom  he  galloped 
three  or  four  paces  out  into  the  room.  Dr.  Dupree  and  others 
rushed  around  him  to  help  him  up  and  asked  him  if  he  was 
hurt.  He  brushed  the  dust  from  his  knees  in  a  very  dignified 
way  and  said:  "Well,  no.  I  feel  no  sense  of  injury  or  dis- 
comfort from  the  experience,  but  it  was  a  very  undignified 
performance  for  a  Bishop." 

At  that  Chattanooga  Conference  I  heard  two  other  sermons 
that  made  a  very  profound  impression  on  me.  One  of  them 
was  by  Rev.  Jno.  M.  McTeer,  the  old  Presiding  Elder  and 
the  famous  field  preacher  of  the  conference.  It  was  on  the 
text:  "How  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  them  that  bring  glad 
tiding's."  As  a  piece  of  pulpit  declamation  it  was  masterful 
and  its  religious  spirit  moved  on  a  high  tide.  It  had  been 
prepared  and  was  preached  by  the  request  of  the  conference. 

The  other  one  was  by  a  boyish-looking  fellow  with  yellow 
hair,  youthful  face  and  twinkling  eyes.  He  looked  to  be  about 
nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  age.  I  wondered  why  such  a 
youngster  was  put  up  when  there  were  so  many  distinguished 
ministers  present.  But  my  wonder  increased  as  he  proceeded, 
not  that  they  had  put  him  up,  but  at  the  marvelous  gifts  and 
gorgeous  flights  of  the  young  fellow's  oratory.  I  afterward 
learned  that  it  was  Rev.  S.  A.  Steel,  who  at  that  time  was  a 
student  at  Emory  and  Henry  College.  He  was  known  far 
and  wide  as  the  boy  preacher  of  all  that  country.  His  elo- 
quence was  something  extraordinary  for  his  years.  He  has 
since  become  so  well  known,  even  to  this  generation  of  young 
ministers,  that  I  need  not  write  more  of  him  in  this  connection. 

I  renewed  my  acquaintance  with  Rev.  W.  W.  Pyott,  the 
man  who  had  the  circuit  when  I  was  at  Professor  Burkett's 
school  and  under  whom  Rev.  James  Atkins,  Jr.,  was  the 
assistant.     I  told  him  the  object  of  my  visit  and  he  said  he 


198  The  Story  of  My  Life 

was  well  acquainted  with  Dr.  E.  E.  Wiley,  the  President  of 
Emory  and  Henry  College,  and  would  gladly  introduce  me 
to  him  and  speak  a  good  word  for  me.  It  was  not  long  until 
we  met  him.  He  was  an  ideal  man  in  his  appearance  for 
such  a  position.  He  was  faultlessly  dressed,  of  medium  size, 
well  proportioned,  smoothly  shaven  face  of  wonderfully  ©lassie 
mold,  keen  black  eyes,  a  shapely  head  covered  with  short  white 
hair  and  a  manner  of  dignity  and  reserve.  I  stated  my  case 
to  him  and  he  listend  with  interest  to  my  story.  But  he  was 
cool,  deliberate  and  distant,  and  when  I  was  through  he  said 
in  a  slow  but  distinct  tone: 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you  and  I  am  glad  that  you  want  to 
complete  your  education.  No  young  man  is  prepared  to  begin 
his  work  in  the  ministry  until  he  hast  at  least  taken  a  thorough 
college  course.  We  have  a  good  school  at  Emory  and  Henry 
and  a  number  of  young  ministers  are  there  in  preparation. 
Your  tuition  will  not  cost  you  anything,  but  your  board  and 
incidentals  will  cost  you  in  the  neighborhood  of  two  hundred 
dollars  per  year.  It  will  take  you  two,  probably  three,  years 
to  graduate.  That  will  depend  upon  how  far  advanced  you 
are  and  your  ability  to  stand  the  examination.  Now  if  you 
conclude  to  come  we  will  be  glad  to  have  you  and  we  will 
do  the  best  we  can  for  you." 

I  asked  him  if  there  would  be  any  opportunity  for  my 
doing  anything  about  the  college  to  help  me  make  the  two 
hundred  dollars.  He  said  that  he  feared  not,  as  there  were 
those  already  there  who  were  filling  those  few  places.  That 
settled  it  with  me,  and  as  we  left  him  I  told  Brother  Pyott 
that  there  was  no  hope  of  my  going  to  Emory  and  Henry 
College.  He  said  to  me:  "Let's  hunt  Dr.  John  H.  Brunner. 
He  has  charge  of  Hiwassee  College  and  it's  a  good  school, 
and  I  believe  that  he  will  arrange  for  you  to  go  there." 


A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for  College  199 

It  was  not  long  until  I  was  introduced  to  him.  He  was  a 
very  different  looking  man  from  Dr.  Wiley.  Really  they 
were  in  sharp  contrast.  He  was  a  very  tall,  large  man.  He 
was  perhaps  six  feet  two;  had  big  bones  well  padded  with 
solid  muscles;  had  large  feet  and  hands,  long  arms,  well  de- 
veloped head  covered  with  a  sort  of  sandy  hair;  had  mild 
eyes  and  a  very  amiable  face.  He  looked  like  a  man  of  big 
heart  and  pleasant,  sunny  disposition.  His  voice  was  soft  and 
he  assumed  a  sort  of  fatherly  attitude  toward  me  as  he  listened 
sympathetically  to  my  statement.  When  I  had  finished  he 
said  to  me: 

"Where  were  you  born  and  brought  up?" 

I  had  told  him  I  was  living  forty  or  fifty  miles  down  in 
Georgia;  that  I  was  born  in  Jefferson  County,  Tennessee,  but 
was  brought  up  mostly  in  Cocke  County.     He  continued: 

"Are  you  related  to  the  late  Colonel  Creed  W.  Rankin?" 

I  told  him  he  was  my  father.  The  tears  came  to  his  eyes 
as  he  said: 

"Let  me  take  your  hand  again.  Your  father's  house  used 
to  be  my  home  when  I  traveled  the  Newport  Circuit.  You 
were  an  infant  then.  Your  father  and  mother  were  great 
friends  of  mine  and  so  was  your  Grandmother  Clark.  I  used 
to  preach  in  her  house.  That  was  a  long  time  ago,  but  I  still 
have  a  very  tender  place  in  my  heart  for  them.  Yes,  sir;  we 
will  arrange  for  you  to  come  to  Hiwassee  College  next  fall, 
money  or  no  money.  You  finish  your  plans  where  you  are 
and  I  think  you  will  be  able  to  enter  the  junior  year,  and  I 
will  be  glad  for  you  to  correspond  with  me  in  the  meantime." 

I  thanked  him  heartily  and  as  we  left  him  I  told  my  friend 
that  I  would  go  to  Hiwassee ;  that  such  a  man  as  Dr.  Brunner 


200  The  Story  of  Mv  Life 

was  the  poor  boy's  friend.    And  it  was  true,  as  the  sequel  will 
abundantly  show. 

I  want  to  say  a  few  more  words  about  Rev.  T.  J.  Simmons. 
the  friend  who  gave  me  much  assistance  on  my  first  charge. 
He  was  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  natural  gifts,  and  had 
he  gone  into, the  traveling  ministry  in  his  early  life  and  de- 
voted himself  to  it  he  would  have  had  more  than  creditable 
success.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  gave  a  good  many  years  to 
the  work  of  traveling  as  a  supply  and  his  work  was  always 
successful.  He  was  good  in  revivals  and  had  he  given  him- 
self even  to  that  sort  of  work  he  might  have  become  noted 
as  an  evangelist.  But  he  was  a  poor  man  with  a  large  family 
and  he  remained  in  the  local  ranks  and  did  what  good  he 
could  in  connection  with  his  secular  employment.  He  was  a 
man  of  overflowing  humor  and  always  saw  the  ridiculous  in 
everything  and  in  everybody.  He  was  companionable  and 
never  failed  to  enliven  the  interest  of  every  circle  he  entered. 
He  was  present  the  day  Aunt  Eachel  Stone  played  havoc  with 
my  sermon  and  he  never  lost  an  opportunity  after  that  to 
run  it  on  me. 

Brother  Simmons  was  quick  at  repartee.  I  will  give  one 
illustration  of  his  quick  wit.  The  bridge  across  the  river  was 
being  repaired  and  a  portion  of  it  gave  way  and  precipitated 
a  number  of  workmen  several  feet  into  the  water.  One  of 
them  was  severely  injured.  An  irreligious  man  by  the  name 
of  Hill  met  Brother  Simmons  in  a  crowd  that  very  day  and 
said  to  him: 

"Tom,  you  had  better  be  down  yonder  at  the  bridge  and 
pray  for  that  fellow  who  got  hurt  awhile  ago." 

Brother  Simmons  as  quick  as  lightning  replied: 

"Never  mind,  John.  If  that  fellow  is  no  worse  hurt  and 
as  badly   scared  as   you  were  the  night  you  were   slightly 


A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for  College  201 

wounded  when  we  were  on  picket  duty  in  front  of  Altanta  He 
will   follow  your  example  and  pray   for  himself." 

John  grinned,  but  had  nothing  more  to  say. 

I  never  had  a  truer  friend  than  Tom  Simmons.  He  stood 
by  me  on  three  occasions  when  the  grave  swallowed  up  the 
remaining  members  of  my  family  and  spoke  words  of  comfort 
that  I  shall  never  forget.  He  had  the  heart  of  a  brother  in 
his  bosom  and  he  was  never  known  to  go  back  on  a  friend. 
In  later  years  he  moved  to  Texas,  was  a  useful  preacher,  loved 
the  Church,  was  Mayor  of  Denton  for  one  term,  but  died  a 
year  or  so  ago  and  went  to  his  reward.  I  will  always  revere 
his  memory. 

About  this  time  Rev.  Sam  Jones  began  to  make  a  stir  in 
the  conference.  However,  it  was  several  years  after,  that 
before  he  became  famous  as  a  revivalist.  He  was  on  the 
DeSoto  Circuit  just  across  the  river  from  Rome  and  only  a 
few  miles  below  my  old  charge.  I  knew  him  well  in  those 
days  and  a  great  deal  better  in  the  years  following.  He 
created  a  sensation  even  then.  He  was  raw  in  the  ministry 
and  people  hardly  knew  how  to  take  him,  or  what  to  make 
out  of  him.  It  was  on  this  circuit  that  he  experienced  the 
only  lapse  after  his  reformation  and  conversion,  but  fortu- 
nately for  him  and  the  Church  this  one  was  only  temporary. 

In  all  my  acquaintance  with  him,  and  it  was  intimate,  I 
never  heard  him  make  the  slightest  reference  to  this  episode. 
It  was  doubtless  a  painful  and  a  bitter  experience,  and  he 
proceeded  to  blot  it  from  his  memory.  It  was  the  result  of 
overtaxed  nerves,  and  some  indiscreet  physician  prescribed 
the  use  of  Hostetter's  Bitters  as  a  stimulant  and  a  tonic. 
Sam  Jones  at  that  time  was  the  last  man  on  earth  to  tamper 
with  that  sort  of  a  remedy.  He  took  it  and  this  tells  the  tale. 
I  need  not  go  into  particulars. 


202  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Fortunately  for  him,  Rev.  Simon  Peter  Richardson  was 
his  Presiding  Elder,  and  he  proved  the  right  man  in  the 
right  place  at  that  time.  Had  a  man  of  less  sympathy  and 
less  judgment  been  in  charge  of  the  district  the  world  might 
not  have  heard  of  Sam  Jones.  The  old  Elder  was  an  eccen- 
tric character  and  had  a  very  original  way  of  his  own  of 
saying  and  doing  things.  He  had  a  wonderful  admiration  for 
young  Jones  and  saw  in  him  wondrous  possibilities.  He  loved 
him  like  a  father  loves  a  son.  And  he  was  strong  and  wise 
and  a  fine  judge  of  human  nature. 

As  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  misfortune  he  went  at  once 
to  the  help  of  the  young  preacher.  He  did  not  go  with  a 
frown  on  his  face  and  a  Discipline  in  his  hand,  but  with  a 
heart  full  of  love  and  kindness.  As  soon  as  he  entered  the 
parsonage  Sam  Jones  went  to  pieces  and  insisted  upon  sur- 
rendering his  credentials.  He  thought  he  had  ruined  every- 
thing.    But  the  old  man  hooted  at  the  idea.     He  said: 

"Sam,  cheer  up,  my  good  fellow ;  your  trouble  is  that  you 
are  a  very  rundown  and  sick  man.  You  need  rest  and  proper 
medical  treatment.  I  am  here  to  love  you  and  to  stand  by 
you  until  you  get  out  of  this  and  are  again  upon  your  feet. 
And  when  you  are  at  yourself  we  will  talk  this  matter  all 
over;  but  we  will  not  discuss  it  now.  Stop  thinking  about  it 
and  get  well,  and  you  will  be  all  right.  Just  as  soon  as  you 
are  recovered  I  will  go  around  your  circuit  with  you  and 
make  it  right.  God  is  good  and  patient  and  he  knows  how  to 
deal  with  you.  Go  to  him  in  prayer  and  I  will  vouch  for  the 
result  before  the  people  and  before  the  conference." 

And  he  made  his  word  good.  Sam  Jones  regained  his  feet 
and  became  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  his  day  and 
generation. 

Simon  Peter  Richardson  was  one  of  the  most  unique  and 


A  Year  of  Special  Preparation  for  College  203 

extraordinary  men  the  Methodist  ministry  ever  produced.  He 
was  a  bundle  of  oddities.  He  could  say  the  most  unheard-of 
things  in  his  sermons,  make  the  people  the  maddest  and  then 
put  them  back  into  a  good  humor  quicker  than  any  man  I  ever 
heard  preach.  In  person  he  was  angular,  had  a  movement, 
a  voice  and  a  pulpit  manner  all  his  own.  He  was  unlike 
anybody  else  in  the  world.  You  could  never  anticipate  him, 
and  he  always  said  the  unexpected.  He  was  brusque  and 
transparent,  and  he  was  as  bright  as  a  piece  of  burnished 
silver.  He  sparkled  from  every  viewpoint.  He  had  a  tremen- 
dous brain,  was  a  great  student  and  he  was  a  master  of 
Arminian  theology. 

He  sometimes  had  discussions  with  ministers  of  other  de- 
nominations. If  they  treated  him  fairly  and  conformed  to  the 
rules  of  public  controversy  he  was  an  agreeable  antagonist, 
but  if  they  undertook  to  carry  their  points  by  sophistry  or  to 
play  for  the  galleries  for  popular  effect  he  simply  stripped 
the  leaves  from  the  switches  with  which  he  proceeded  to 
scourge  them,  and  the  process  was  something  terrific. 

I  never  grew  tired  of  hearing  Brother  Richardson.  Every 
sentence  that  fell  from  his  lips  was  something  fresh  and 
startling.  Whether  in  private  conversation  or  in  public  dis- 
course he  never  lacked  for  interested  auditors.  Everybody 
wanted  to  hear  him  when  he  visited  his  quarterly  meetings. 
Even  when  they  did  not  agree  with  him  in  doctrine  they  were 
anxious  to  listen  to  what  he  had  to  say. 

There  was  never  but  one  Simon  Peter  Richardson,  and  it  is 
a  pity  that  his  talents  were  restricted  to  such  a  comparatively 
narrow  sphere.  Had  he  pushed  himself  out,  like  other  pecu- 
liar and  striking  characters  I  have  known,  he  would  have 
filled  as  large  a  place  in  the  public  eye  as  Lorenzo  Dow,  Peter 
Cartwright  or  Sam  Jones.     He  had  more  native  talent  and  a 


204  The  Story  of  My  Life 

bigger  brain  than  either  of  them,  and  as  a  reader  and  a  thinker 
he  surpassed  them  all.  But  he  was  not  an  ambitious  man, 
cared  nothing  for  notoriety,  was  satisfied  with  the  fields  as- 
signed him  by  the  Church  and  spent  his  life  mostly  in  Florida 
and  Georgia. 

At  the  close  of  the  term  in  the  Resaca  school  I  had  finished 
my  task  and  was  ready  for  the  junior  year  in  college.  I  had 
informed  myself  as  to  what  would  be  required  to  meet  the 
conditions,  and  I  had  studied  to  that  end.  Professor  Hodge 
gave  me  every  possible  assistance  and  he  was  of  wonderful 
help  to  me.  All  that  I  needed  was  a  little  more  ready  cash 
to  make  both  ends  meet  the  first  year  at  college.  I  had  three 
months  before  me  and  determined  to  make  them  count. 

So  I  rolled  up  my  sleeves,  entered  the  field  and  got  down 
to  business.  I  only  needed  fifty  dollars  and  I  knew  I  could 
make  it.  I  was  at  home  in  any  sphere  of  hard  work,  and 
after  close  application  for  ten  months  I  needed  the  outdoor 
exercise.  It  was  an  exhilaration '  to  me  to  again  use  the 
plow  and  the  hoe,  and  it  was  not  long  until  the  pallor  left  my 
face  and  my  ruddy  complexion  returned.  More  than  that,  by 
the  first  of  September  I  had  the  amount  necessary  to  supple- 
ment my  limited  funds,  and  I  was  satisfied. 

I  had  made  good  friends  and  they  were  well-to-do.  They 
were  kind  enough  to  tell  me  that  if  I  needed  help  to  call  on 
them,  but  from  early  life  I  had  learned  from  Wesley's  writings 
that  "debt,  dirt  and  the  devil"  are  the  common  enemies  of 
man ;  and  I  resolved  to  steer  clear  of  all  of  them  as  far  as 
possible.  I  did  not  want  to  owe  any  man  anything.  And 
that  has  been  the  rule  of  my  life.  With  this  principle  firmly 
fixed  in  my  mind  I  put  my  money  in  my  pocket,  packed  my 
trunk  and  was  off  for  Hiwassee  College. 


Chapter  XV 

Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College 

It  had  been  the  dream  of  my  life  to  go  to  college.  By  day 
I  had  planned  for  it  and  by  night  I  had  contemplated  it,  and 
at  last  the  consummation  of  my  plans  was  to  be  realized.  I 
was  at  Hiwassee  College ! 

Just  over  the  hill  and  near  the  roadside  was  the  home  of 
dear  old  Dr.  Brunner.  It  was  an  unpretentious  frame  struc- 
ture, two  stories  and  painted  white.  It  was  an  old  house,  but 
in  good  repair.  It  was  the  old  homestead  of  the  Key  family, 
and  that  was  the  name  of  Mrs.  Brunner's  people.  Her  father 
was  a  local  preacher  in  his  day — a  grand  old  man,  useful  and 
prosperous.  It  had  opened  its  doors  from  the  beginning  to 
Methodist  ministers. 

Old  Father  James  Axley,  a  famous  Methodist  preacher  of 
the  pioneer  days,  had  been  entertained  there  times  without 
number.  He  was  a  contemporary  of  Peter  Cartwright,  had 
traveled  in  the  Middle  West  and  finally  came  South  with 
Bishop  Asbury,  and  after  years  of  toil  in  the  vineyard  settled 
some  miles  from  the  Key  home,  and  often  visited  it  when 
he  preached  in  the  community. 

Old  Brother  Key  entertained  Dr.  Brunner  in  his  young 
days  and  gave  his  daughter  in  marraige  to  the  young  min- 
ister, and  in  the  end  the  homestead  had  fallen  to  her. 

Ex-Postmaster  General  D.  M.  Key,  in  President  Hayes' 
Cabinet,  was  her  brother,  and  had  been  brought  up  in  that 


206  The  Story  of  My  Life 

home.  He  was  afterward  a  distinguished  Federal  Judge. 
It  was  an  historic  old  home.  The  barn,  the  spring  and  the 
meadow  were  near  by.  It  was  a  typical  country  home  of  the 
good  old  days.  Undulating  hills  were  not  far  away  and  they 
were  crowned  with  magnificent  groves.  There  was  an  Arca- 
dian look  about  the  environment.     It  was  rural  and  quiet. 

In  the  vale  beyond  just  a  half  mile  was  the  college  building. 
It  was  surrounded  at  no  great  distance  by  hills  and  oaken 
groves.  The  intervening  spaces  were  interspersed  with  fields 
and  wooded  forests.  Just  below  the  site  ran  an  East  Ten- 
nessee stream,  not  far  from  the  banks  of  which  was  a  copious 
spring  gushing  from  the  hill.  The  building  was  a  long  two- 
story  brick  with  substantial  apartments  for  chapel,  study  hall 
and  classrooms.  It  was  neither  majestic  nor  stately,  but  it 
was  substantial  and  useful. 

The  old  boardinghouse  was  a  few  hundred  yards  away,  a 
bulky  old-fashioned  building,  arranged  in  a  sort  of  a  livery- 
stable  style — long,  with  a  hall  running  the  whole  length  below 
and  above  and  small  rooms  on  either  side.  The  old  gentle- 
man, Donald  McKinzy,  who  kept  it,  was  a  rare  character  both 
in  appearance  and  in  personality.  But  he  suited  his  position 
as  though  he  had  been  born  for  it.  He  had  a  remarkable 
memory,  and  hence  he  never  kept  books  of  any  sort  and  made 
no  entries  of  any  kind.  He  held  all  his  business  in  his  head, 
and  the  strange  thing  was  that  he  never  forgot  anything 
and  made  no  mistakes  in  his  accounts. 

The  whole  surroundings,  buildings,  fields,  hills,  groves  and 
country  homes  impressed  me  favorably.  I  have  always  been 
a  countryman  by  instinct  and  training  and  it  has  an  infatua- 
tion for  me  even  to  this  good  day.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that 
it  was  not  the  place  for  young  men  seeking  pleasure  or  recrea- 
tion or  adventure.    The  wealthy  and  the  men  of  high  degree 


Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College  207 

would  seek  another  place.  But  it  was  the  place  for  sons  of 
the  middle  classes  seeking  good  advantages  under  favorable 
and  inexpensive  surroundings.  It  was  the  ideal  place  for  the 
poor  boy  whose  business  at  college  was  to  learn  and  who  had 
but  little  money  to  spend. 

There  was  nothing  to  divert  attention  or  to  distract  the 
thought  or  to  dissipate  the  mind.  It  was  the  place  for  soli- 
tude, communion  with  nature  and  for  sustained  mental  labor. 
The  sky  was  bright,  the  breezes  exhilarating,  the  fare  nour- 
ishing and  the  course  of  study  extensive  and  thorough.  The 
teachers  were  plain,  well  qualified  and  unostentatious  men. 
They  were  en  rapport  with  the  place  and  the  work  to  be 
done.  And  from  old  Dr.  Brunner  on  down  they  were  reli- 
gious men,  with  solid  piety  and  consistency  of  life. 

Young  men  from  nearly  a  dozen  States,  just  like  himself 
mostly,  were  there;  something  more  than  a  hundred  in  num- 
ber, bent  on  work.  With  very  few  exceptions  there  was 
scarcely  a  sorry  fellow  in  the  bunch.  Each  one  knew  what 
he  was  destined  to  be  and  his  plans  were  projected  to  that  end. 
Some  were  going  to  make  ministers,  others  were  looking  to 
the  bar,  a  few  were  going  to  study  medicine,  some  were 
preparing  to  teach  and  a  goodly  number  were  going  to  become 
farmers.  It  was  the  most  determined,  robust  and  hardy 
set  of  moral  fellows  I  have  ever  seen  gathered  together.  Prac- 
tically all  of  them  had  a  definite  object  before  them.  They 
knew  exactly  why  they  were  there  and  what  they  intended 
to  do  after  they  had  completed  the  course  and  entered  upon 
life's  duty.  I  seriously  doubt  if  there  was  ever  just  another 
such  a  bunch  of  young  men  found  in  any  institution  of  learn- 
ing.    It  meant  much  to  be  associated  with  them. 

At  the  head  of  them  stood  old  Dr.  Brunner,  plain,  unob- 
trusive, clean,  lofty  and  as  commanding  as  an  old  Roman. 


208  The  Story  of  My  Life 

He  was  large  of  body  and  of  mind  and  the  magnitude  of  his 
spirit  was  the  striking  feature  in  his  splendid  personality. 
He  was  every  inch  a  man;  quiet,  strong,  determined  and 
cultured.  You  could  not  look  into  his  open  face  and  imagine 
that  an  impure  thought  had  ever  found  lodgment  in  his  mind ; 
no  dissimulation,  no  double-dealing,  no  sinister  purpose,  no 
self-aggrandizement  in  his  nature,  nor  did  he  tolerate  such 
qualities  in  his  student  body.  He  loved  them  like  sons  and 
trusted  them  like  patriots.  Woe  betide  the  miscreant  who 
ever  betrayed  his  confidence  or  imposed  upon  his  indulgence! 
He  was  a  great  man,  a  great  teacher,  a  philosopher  of  the 
olden  type. 

I  will  never  forget  him  as  he  arose  in  his  stateliness  the 
first  morning  after  the  session  was  organized  and  delivered 
his  first  of  a  series  of  daily  talks  to  us.  They  were  senten- 
tious, monosyllabic,  forceful  and  packed  with  wisdom.  There 
was  nothing  of  eloquence  or  oratory  or  studied  effect ;  they 
were  the  simple  epigrammatic  utterances  of  a  man  who  had 
traveled  far  along  the  way  of  life,  had  read  its  books,  experi- 
enced its  difficulties,  mixed  with  its  men  and  had  thus  ma- 
tured himself  in  the  work  of  its  practical  affairs.  He  was 
the  ideal  man  and  teacher  to  lead  that  bunch  of  determined, 
ambitious  young  men. 

I  shall  always  thank  God  that  I  was  one  of  that  crowd  who 
began  training  under  him  in  the  long,  long  ago.  He  com- 
pleted in  my  life  and  character  all  that  had  been  made  pos- 
sible by  the  helping  hand  of  old  Professor  Burkett. 

I  entered  the  junior  year  after  the  examination  and  the 
class  was  a  large  one.  In  Greek,  in  Latin,  in  Mathematics, 
in  the  Sciences  and  in  Literature  I  had  the  best  of  associates. 
They  were  an  inspiration  to  me.  I  have  never  seen  such 
persistent  and  good-natured  rivalry.     It  was   square,  open, 


Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College  209 

honest,  gentlemanly.  No  one  cheated,  no  one  sought  an  undue 
advantage ;  it  was  wholesome  and  stimulating. 

To  dive  into  those  books  and  touch  elbows  with  those  thrifty 
fellows  was  like  drinking  from  the  fountain  of  life.  It  was  a 
mental  stimulus  that  generated  force  and  aspiration.  We  had 
our  two  literary  societies  and  they  gave  scope  and  opportunity 
for  the  development  and  exercise  of  our  gifts  and  graces  as 
public  speakers.  There  we  met  in  the  arena  and  measured 
swords  in  the  intellectual  combats  of  college  life.  How  the 
sparks  used  to  fly  in  our  society  debates ! 

I  had  nothing  to  do,  fortunately,  but  to  devote  myself  to 
study.  By  strict  economy  and  frugality  I  had  means  barely 
sufficient  to  meet  my  actual  expense,  and  I  measured  the  worth 
of  a  dollar  with  scientific  accuracy.  My  clothing  was  plain, 
but  simple ;  and  board  in  that  out-of-the-way  country  place 
was  exceedingly  reasonable.  There  was  no  need  and  not 
much  opportunity  for  spending  money  foolishly,  and  there 
was  no  boy  there  who  was  either  able  or  desirous  to  indulge 
in  luxuries. 

If  I  had  the  time  or  thought  it  would  be  interesting  I  could 
take  up  the  after-lives  of  many  of  that  class  and  prove  the 
beneficial  influence  of  their  training  by  the  success  they 
scored  in  the  various  pursuits  awaiting  them.  A  number  of 
them  distinguished  themselves  in  the  ministry,  in  the  profes- 
sion of  law,  in  policits  and  in  the  art  of  letters.  Nearly  every 
year  since  then  I  have  met  them  here  and  there  in  the  various 
walks  of  life  and  I  have  found  them  invariably  the  best  type 
of  citizens,  useful  and  successful. 

Hence  I  have  always  been  impressed  with  the  importance 
of  the  place  of  the  small  college  in  the  preparation  of  boys 
for  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life.  Such  was  the  moral 
and  religious  influence  of  the  place  that  the  faculty  sent  only 


210  The  Story  of  My  Life 

two  boys  home  during  my  stay  of  two  years  in  that  school, 
and  they  were  city  boys. 

We  had  a  good  Church  organization;  it  had  been  there 
for  years,  and  in  it  we  found  a  snug  Church  home.  We  had 
a  dedication  of  the  new  building  and  Dr.  David  Sullins 
preached  the  sermon.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen 
him,  though  he  was  one  of  the  famous  preachers  of  the  hill 
country.  He  was  President  of  Sullins'  College  at  Bristol  at 
that  time.  College  boys  have  wonderful  ideas  of  oratory  and 
eloquence,  and  we  all  knew  something  of  Dr.  Sullins'  repu- 
tation, and  our  expectations  soared  high  when  it  was  an- 
nounced that  he  would  dedicate  our  College  Church. 

The  day  came  and  it  was  balmy  and  beautiful.  The  audi- 
ence was  large,  and  when  he  entered  the  door  we  recognized 
him.  He  was  then  in  his  prime ;  tall,  wiry,  symmetrically 
developed,  a  head  that  would  have  done  Apollo  credit,  auburn 
hair,  a  splendid  eye  and  graceful  in  every  movement.  His 
subject  was :  "Man's  Co-operative  Part  in  the  Salvation  of 
the  World.''  That  theme  gave  him  access  to  every  depart- 
ment of  Scriptural  treatment,  and  he  made  ample  use  of  the 
liberty  thus  accorded  him.  What  a  rich  voice !  Its  tones  were 
like  the  rhythmic  brook  and  his  inflections  were  as  soft  and 
elastic  as  the  zephyrs  of  spring.  He  took  occasion  in  the 
progress  of  his  sermon  to  take  up  the  different  books  of  the 
Bible  in  order  to  show  how  God  used  the  temperaments,  the 
intellect  and  predilections  of  men  as  the  media  through  which 
to  make  a  revelation  of  the  divine  to  the  human.  When  he 
came  to  the  Psalms  he  dwelt  upon  that  passage:  "As  the 
hart  panteth  after  the  water  brooks  so  panteth  my  soul  after 
thee,  oh  God."  And  he  pointed  out  how  David,  when  chased 
and  hounded  by  the  enemy  in  after  life,  thought  of  one  of 
the  pastoral  incidents  in  his  shepherd  experience.     Then  he 


Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College  211 

described  a  deer  with  the  deep  bay  and  hot  breath  of  the 
pursuing  hounds  upon  its  track;  how  it  flew  upon  the  wings 
of  the  wind,  up  the  mountain,  down  the  gorge,  across  the 
field  and  over  the  hill  with  dogs  coming  closer  and  closer  as 
it  became  heated  and  exhausted  in  the  chase;  and  when  it 
looked  like  the  little  animal  was  ready  to  fall  from  weariness 
and  thirst  it  plunged  into  the  stream  and  found  refreshment 
from  all  peril  as  it  submerged  its  body  and  floated  out  of 
sight  and  danger;  and  wfeen  he  reached  that  thrilling  period 
the  boys  forgot  themselves  and  broke  out  into  a  lusty  hand- 
clapping.  We  had  all  been  in  a  deer  chase  many  a  time  and 
the  picture  was  so  life-like  that  we  forgot  we  were  in  Church. 

We  had  our  annual  revival  and  the  meeting  was  a  time  of 
refreshing  from  the  presence  of  the  Lord.  We  had  a  fine 
old  man,  Uncle  Jimmy  Smith,  as  our  pastor.  He  was  not  a 
learned  man,  but  he  was  genuinely  religious,  and  he  was  a 
man  of  striking  personality.  Nearly  all  those  old  hill  preachers 
in  Holston  had  marks  that  differentiated  them  from  nearly 
all  other  men  with  whom  I  have  been  associated.  They  stood 
out  in  some  distinct  way  and  had  some  special  endowment 
that  gave  to  them  a  style  of  ministry  all  their  own. 

Uncle  Jimmy  was  one  of  that  type.  He  was  a  large  and 
rather  bulky  man ;  had  a  red  head  mingled  with  gray  and 
his  hair  was  short  and  bristly.  It  looked  like  a  heavy  frost 
had  recently  fallen  upon  it.  His  face  was  florid  and 'looked 
as  though  a  dull  razor  had  just  gone  over  it.  He  had  a 
rasping  voice.  There  was  not  an  element  of  oratory  or  a 
strain  of  eloquence  in  his  makeup.  He  even  had  the  old 
Hardshell  twang  and  was  liberal  with  small  white  balls  of 
spittle  when  he  warmed  up  to  his  subject.  But  he  had  ideas 
and  he  had  religion,  and  we  all  loved  him.  But  his  preaching 
was  far  from  the  college  boy^s  conception. 


212  The  Story  of  My  Life 

He  was  really  embarrassed  every  time  he  appeared  before 
us.  During-  the  year  I  was  with  him  at  a  District  Conference. 
Dr.  E.  E.  Wiley  was  present.  Uncle  Jimmy  made  a  speech 
on  some  subject,  but  it  was  hard  to  tell  what  he  was  driving 
at.  Dr.  Wiley  concluded  to  have  a  little  fun  at  the  old  man's 
expense  and  he  arose  in  a  humorous  manner  to  a  point  of 
order.  The  chairman  told  him  to  state  his  point.  Uncle 
Jimmy  stopped  short  and  stood  and  looked  at  him.  The 
Doctor  in  a  very  facetious  manner  said: 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  suggest  that  Brother  Smith  stop  long 
enough  to  show  us  the  point," 

The  conference  enjoyed  the  interruption,  but  Uncle  Jimmy 
was  ready  for  him.  When  the  merriment  ceased  the  old  man 
went  right  on  in  the  same  vehement  manner  with  which  he 
was  speaking  when  interrupted  and  said: 

"Mr.  Cheerman,  I  can  make  pints,  but  I  can't  give  men  like 
Dr.  Wiley  brains  to  see  'urn." 

It  brought  down  the  house,  but  it  brought  Dr.  Wiley  further 
down  than  it  did  the  house.  He  did  good  service  on  that 
circuit,  but  the  next  year  the  conference  sent  a  younger  man. 
Uncle  Jimmy  was  disappointed,  said  he  did  not  like  to  move, 
for  it  made  him  seasick  to  ride  on  a  train. 

At  the  close  of  the  college  year  I  had  made  good  progress, 
passed  all  my  examinations  and  was  advanced  to  the  senior 
class.  I  went  back  to  Georgia  to  spend  my  vacation.  My 
money  was  all  gone  and  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  hustle 
during  the  summer  months  in  order  to  replenish  my  finances 
for  the  next  year. 

I  began  to  cast  about  for  some  sort  of  a  job.  One  day  Rev. 
P.  G.  Reynolds,  the  pastor  on  the  Calhoun  Circuit,  close  to 
where  my  uncle  was  then  living,  called  over  to  see  the  family. 
und  when  he  found  me  there  he  said  that  I  was  the  very 


REV.  JNO.  H.  BRUXXER,  D.  D. 


Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College  213 

fellow  he  was  looking  for;  that  he  wanted  to  begin  a  meeting 
at  Mount  Horeb,  several  miles  in  the  country,  and  that  he 
wanted  me  to  go  along  and  help  him  in  the  meeting. 

Well,  I  had  not  fallen  onto  anything  yet  and  thought  I  had 
just  as  well  go  with  him  and  give  him  a  few  days  in  the 
services,  thinking  that  something  might  turn  up  out  there  that 
I  could  do.  It  was  in  a  fine  community  of  excellent  people. 
They  were  sturdy  and  well-to-do  farmers.  After  the  second 
day  Brother  Reynolds  was  called  home  on  account  of  sickness 
in  his  family  and  turned  the  meeting  over  to  me.  I  took 
hold  of  it  in  my  own  way. 

I  organized  twenty-five  or  thirty  of  the  best  members  into 
an  evangelistic  campaign,  in  squads  of  two  and  two,  and  gave 
direction  to  them  to  visit  every  house  within  a  radius  of  five 
miles  and  hold  prayers  with  the  family  and  tell  them  about 
the  meeting,  and  to  urge  them  to  attend.  I  went  with  one 
of  them.  It  had  its  magic  effect.  That  night  the  house  was 
packed  and  so  was  the  altar.  Then  every  day  and  night  for 
ten  days  the  meeting  reached  a  high  tide.  Nearly  everybody 
in  the  community  out  of  the  Church  was  converted.  It  was  a 
great  meeting.  Among  them  was  a  little  bright-faced,  sun- 
tanned boy  twelve  or  fourteen  years  of  age.  At  the  closing 
service  I  took  all  their  names  to  carry  back  to  Brother  Rey- 
nolds so  that  he  could  return  in  a  few  days  to  receive  them 
into  the  Church.  That  little  boy's  name  was  W.  W.  Watts, 
now  one  of  the  leading  members  of  the  Texas  Conference. 

As  I  stepped  into  the  buggy  to  be  driven  back  to  town  old 
Brothers  Watts,  White  and  Stanton  came  up  and  expressed 
'their  great  appreciation  of  my  services.  It  rather  embarrassed 
me,  for  I  did  not  realize  that  I  had  done  anything  much. 
And  as  they  told  me  good-bye  they  handed  me  a  sealed  letter. 
I  thought  it  was  given  to  me  to  mail  when  I  reached  town. 


214  The  Story  of  My  Life 

After  I  had  gotten  out  three  or  four  miles  the  brother  who- 
was  driving-  me  said  he  was  anxious  to  know  what  was  in 
that  letter.  The  fact  is,  he  already  knew,  but  I  was  as  ignorant 
of  its  contents  as  a  child.  I  had  not  the  remotest  suspicion.. 
When  I  told  him  we  would  drop  it  in  the  office  when  we  got 
to  town  he  laughed  and  said: 

"No,  we  won't,  either.  You  open  that  letter;  it  is  addressed 
to  you,  boy." 

I  pulled  it  out  and  sure  enough  it  was  to  me.  I  opened  it 
and  it  contained  a  note  of  thanks  and  three  twenty-dollar  bills  I 
It  knocked  the  breath  out  of  me,  and  to  save  my  life  I  could 
not  keep  from  breaking  down  and  crying  like  a  child.  No- 
body out  there  knew  my  condition  except  myself.  I  never 
dreamed  of  receiving  a  cent  from  those  people.  How  did 
they  know  it?  I  never  did  find  out  unless  either  Brother 
Reynolds  or  the  good  Lord  gave  them  the  information.  It 
was  a  Godsend  to  me.  It  solved  my  next  year's  problem.  I 
knew  that  I  could  supplement  it  with  enough  to  almost  carry 
me  through  the  next  year.  It  was  not  long  until  I  was  at 
work  making  the  necessary  balance.  And  when  the  vacation, 
closed  I  was  prepared  to  continue  my  work. 

Nearly  every  boy  was  back  in  his  place  and  we  had  a  very 
large  senior  class.  We  at  once  got  down  to  business.  My,  but 
it  was  a  year  of  application  and  progress !  Dr.  Brunner  gave 
us  every  encouragement.  We  went  into  those  books  like 
Trojans  and  cleaned  them  up  as  fast  as  we  reached  them. 
We  kept  up  our  society  work.  This  was  a  great  advantage. 
We  made  progress  in  the  art  of  public  speech;  and  right 
here  I  want  to  record  one  interesting  incident.  I  might  record 
many,  but  this  one  will  be  illustrative  of  many.  It  will  give 
the  reader  an  idea  of  the  sort  of  material  we  had  in  that 
school. 


Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College  21  $ 

There  had  come  to  the  college  a  young  fellow  from  one 
of  the  remote  rural  districts  of  Georgia  by  the  name  of  Clay. 
That  year  he  was  a  junior.  He  was  an  awkward  fellow, 
bright,  opened-eyed  and  alert.  He  was  a  member  of  my 
society.  As  the  term  advanced  we  had  a  joint  discussion 
between  representative  juniors  in  the  two  societies.  Clay  was 
one  of  those  from  our  side.  I  was  appointed  to  take  charge 
of  him,  help  him  with  his  speech  and  groom  him  for  the  public 
occasion.  T  began  to  prepare  him,  helped  him  to  write  his 
speech,  took  him  out  every  evening  for  a  week  prior  to  the 
time,  had  him  to  mount  a  log  and  repeat  his  speech  to  me; 
and  I  would  criticise  his  gestures,  his  pronunciation  and  so  on. 
The  evening  before  the  discussion  he  did  well  and  I  compli- 
mented him  and  told  him  that  we  ought  to  win  on  his  effort 
if  he  would  do  that  well  before  the  judges.  He  jumped  up 
in  the  style  of  the  country  boy,  cracked  his  heels  together 
and  said  he  was  sure  to  do  his  part. 

Then  we  sat  down  on  the  log  and  had  a  general  talk.  I 
asked  him  what  his  plans  were  after  he  had  finished  the  course, 
for  every  boy  there  had  his  plans.  He  grew  enthusiastic  and 
said:  "I  am  going  back  to  Georgia  and  locate  in  Marietta, 
my  county  town,  and  study  law.  Then  I  am  going  to  hang 
out  my  shingle  and  practice  until  I  make  some  money,  then 
I  am  going  to  the  Legislature.  The  next  year  I  will  go  to 
the  State  Senate  and  become  Speaker  of  that  body,  and  then 
I  am  going  to  Congress." 

I  looked  at  him  and  smiled  and  told  him  that  he  had  cut 
out  a  big  job.    "Yes,  but  you  keep  your  eye  on  me,"  he  said. 

He  asked  me  what  my  plan  was.  I  told  him  I  would 
join  the  Holston  Conference  the  following  fall,  consecrate 
myself  to  the  ministry  and  become  a  useful  preacher.  He 
said:     "That's  all  right,  but  there's  not  much  money  in  it. 


216  The  Story  of  My  Life 

If  you'll  make  a  big  one  you'll  have  a  wide  opportunity  to 
distinguish  yourself,  but  if  you  are  only  to  be  a  one-horse 
Methodist  preacher  it  won't  amount  to  much.  I'd  be  a  big 
one  or  none." 

I  have  long  since  forgotten  how  Clay  acquitted  himself 
that  night,  or  which  side  won  the  victory,  but  I  have  never 
forgotten  the  inspiration  that  played  in  that  young  fellow's 
face  as  he  sat  there  and  unfolded  his  plans  to  me.  And 
now,  diverging  from  the  time  I  am  writing  long  enough  to 
follow  that  boy  out  several  years  in  life,  I  will  say  that 
he  carried  out  his  plan  to  the  letter,  and  while  Speaker  of  the 
Georgia  Senate  the  Legislature  elected  the  successor  to  the 
late  General  John  B.  Gordon  and  his  name  was  Senator  Alex- 
ander Stephens  Clay!  He  served  two  terms  in  the  United 
States  Senate  and  was  just  entering  upon  his  third  when,  two 
years  ago,  he  was  stricken  with  illness  and  died,  mourned  by 
the  whole  State.     He  did  what  he  started  out  to  do. 

I  spoke  just  now  of  old  Father  Axley,  and  while  it  is  not 
connected  with  my  experience  at  college,  yet  the  incident  is 
interesting  and  it  did  happen  before  my  day  right  there  in 
that  community,  and  I  will  record  it.  It  was  told  me  many 
years  afterward  by  Judge  D.  M.  Key.  The  Judge  was  not 
a  religious  man  and  did  not  set  much  store  by  things  of  that 
sort  at  that  time.  He  afterwards  became  a  Churchman.  It 
was  far  back  in  his  boyhood,  and  I  will  let  him  relate  it : 

"It  was  in  the  early  summer  after  we  had  worked  out  the 
crop  a  time  or  two  when  a  protracted  drouth  struck  the  com-  , 
munity.  For  weeks  we  had  no  rain,  the  creeks  dried  up,  the 
ground  was  turned  to  dust,  the  corn  was  twisted  and  almost 
blistered,  the  grass  was  parched,  we  were  suffering  for  water 
and  it  looked  like  ruin  and  want  were  going  to  overtake  us. 
My  father  and  the  people  generally  became  alarmed  and  they 


Two  Years  at  Hiwassee  College  21 J 

appointed  a  day  for  fasting-  and  prayer  and  sent  for  Father 
Axley  to  come  and  conduct  the  services.  We  gathered  just 
below  the  college  under  the  campground  pavilion  early.  It 
was  Sunday  morning.  The  people  began  to  sing  and  pray. 
About  ten  o'clock  we  looked  up  the  road  and  saw  the  old 
man  coming  along  slowly  through  the  dust  on  his  horse.  He 
rode  up  and  hitched  and  came  into  the  pulpit.  He  was  an  old 
man  and  very  stern.  Boys  fought  shy  of  him.  There  was 
something  awfully  solemn  in  his  face  and  manner.  He  made 
us  think  of  the  Judgment. 

"He  arose  and  announced  a  hymn  and  called  us  to  prayer. 
I  shall  never  forget  that  petition  as  long  as  I  live.  It  was  the 
most  fearful  confession  of  the  sins  of  the  people  that  ever 
fell  on  mortal  ears.  He  told  God  that  we  were  getting  exactly 
what  we  deserved,  only  it  was  not  severe  enough ;  that  we  had 
forfeited  all  right  to  mercy  or  help ;  that  we  merited  the 
damnation  of  hell,  and  that  we  had  no  ground  of  hope  until 
we  had  sufficiently  repented  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  It  made 
the  cold  chills  creep  over  me  and  the  cold  sweat  broke  out 
on  my  face  as  he  proceeded.  Then  he  changed  his  tactics 
and  called  the  attention  of  God  to  the  innocent  birds  dying  of 
thirst,  to  the  insects  that  were  suffering,  to  the  fishes  in  the 
pools  that  were  perishing  and  to  the  poor  cattle  that  had  com- 
mitted no  wrong,  and  asked  the  Lord  to  turn  his  thought 
away  from  the  wickedness  of  man  for  the  moment  and  have 
mercy  upon  the  innocent  creatures  suffering  on  account  of 
man's  ingratitude,  sinfulness  and  untold  iniquities,  and  to 
send  the  early  and  the  latter  rain  to  them.  The  men  and  the 
women  and  the  children  cried  aloud  as  they  became  over- 
whelmed with  a  sense  of  fear  and  penitence  under  the  awe- 
inspiring  petition  of  the  old  man.  I  have  never  witnessed 
just  such  a  scene.    His  prayer  must  have  lasted  over  an  hour. 


218  The  Story  of  My  Life 

"When  he  saw  the  effect  he  closed  and  told  them  now  to 
hasten  home,  that  God  would  visit  them  with  rain.  I  was 
frightened  out  of  my  wits  and  I  climbed  over  the  fence  and 
started  on  a  run  through  the  field  a  near  way  home.  When 
I  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  I  heard  it  thunder  and  I  looked 
and  saw  a  dark  cloud  rapidly  approaching;  before  I  reached 
the  gate  the  heavens  seemed  to  open  and  the  rain  came  down 
in  torrents  and  blinded  me.  Many  of  the  people  were  so 
thoroughly  drenched  that  they  were  almost  drowned.  The 
whole  earth  was  soaked  and  we  made  fine  crops.  Now  I  do 
not  know  whether  the  prayer  of  Father  Axley  had  anything  to 
do  with  that  rain  or  not,  but  these  are  the  facts  beyond 
doubt." 

I  have  visited  time  and  again  the  grave  of  Father  Axley. 
When  Bishop  McTyeire  was  writing  the  History  of  Methodism 
he  visited  that  section  and  1  took  him  to  that  historic  spot. 
As  he  gazed  at  the  long  old  grave  he  said  it  may  not  be  re- 
membered by  many,  but  James  Axley  came  within  four  votes 
once  being  elected  to  the  Episcopacy. 

Now  returning  to  my  school  experience  at  Hiwassee,  the 
commencement  occasion  soon  came  round.  It  was  a  gala  day. 
We  were  in  our  best  attire.  The  country  smiled  beautifully. 
The  crowd  was  large,  as  was  always  the  case.  The  exami- 
nations were  passed,  the  speeches  made,  the  honors  announced, 
the  fatherly  address  delivered  by  Dr.  Brunner,  the  diplomas 
given  and  the  degrees  conferred,  and  we  were  all  ready  to 
say  good-bye  and  turn  in  the  direction  of  home. 

How  different  my  feelings  from  those  when  I  left  Student's 
Home!  Then  I  was  run  down  in  health,  worn  by  toil,  op- 
pressed by  burdens  too  heavy  to  bear,  exhausted  from  lack  of 
proper  nourishment,  my  work  only  begun,  with  the  hope  of 
the  future  not  overly  bright  and  no  visible  provision  for  the 


Two  Years  at  Hizvassee  College  219 

next  step  in  life.  But  I  had  gone  through  Hiwassee  like  a 
White  boy  and  had  not  repeated  the  experience  of  hardship, 
of  blistering  toil,  of  trembling  fears,  of  pressing  want,  of 
groveling  poverty,  of  sleepless  nights  through  which  I  had 
passed  in  the  former  school.  I  had  completed  the  course  with 
my  head  up,  my  pocket  reasonably  supplied,  my  wants  met,  my 
hope  buoyant,  my  task  completed  and  with  my  future  inviting. 

Yes,  I  was  ready  for  the  work  of  my  life  and  my  heart 
was  throbbing  with  the  fullness  of  my  purpose  and  desire  to 
plunge  into  it,  and  the  loving  benediction  of  dear  old  Dr. 
Brunner  resting  upon  my  head  and  my  heart. 

I  was  as  happy  as  a  boy  without  a  wish  or  a  care.  Like  the 
eagle  long  imprisoned  in  his  narrow  cage,  when  liberated 
plumes  his  pinions  and  cleaves  the  air  in  his  proud  flight  to 
greet  the  king  at  the  gates  of  day,  so  I  was  thrilled  with  the 
thought  that  at  last  the  bars  of  my  prison  doors  were  broken 
and  I  was  ready  to  try  my  strength  in  the  intellectual  heavens 
of  a  new-born   era. 

My  whole  being  was  aflame  with  the  feeling  that  my  school 
days  were  ended  and  that  my  face,  luminous  with  the  glow 
of  an  enlarged  hope,  was  then  turning  towards  the  goal  of  a 
long-cherished  ambition  amid  the  sphere  of  life's  chosen  voca- 
tion. So  with  a  bounding  spirit  I  bade  the  venerable  Presi- 
dent, the  indulgent  professors  and  the  congenial  classmates  a 
fond  adieu  and  hastened  my  footsteps  toward  the  humble 
home  where  there  was  a  jovous  welcome  awaiting  me. 


Chapter  XVI 

The  Conference  and  My  First 
Year  in  Holston 

About  the  middle  of  the  seventies  I  was  again  off  to  con- 
ference at  Asheville,  North  Carolina.  This  time  it  was  Hol- 
ston, and  Western  North  Carolina  was  then  in  this  con- 
ference. I  made  it  convenient  to  stop  at  Mossy  Creek,  the 
place  where  a  few  years  before  I  had  taken  the  train  for 
Dfalton ;  and  from  there  made  a  short  excursion  into  the 
Dumpling  Creek  neighborhood  to  visit  my  father's  relatives. 
I  had  not  been  among  them  since  boyhood. 

It  was  a  Presbyterian  community  and  thickly  settled.  They 
could  not  understand  how  I  became  a  Methodist,  but  they 
had  me  to  preach  on  Sunday.  I  must  have  met  several  hun- 
dred kinsmen.  My  grandfather's  old  home  was  only  seven 
miles  away,  but  he  was  dead  and  my  two  favorite  aunts  were 
married  and  gone.  My  old  Dutch  step-grandma  was  living, 
but  I  had  no  desire  to  see  her  or  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  my 
strenuous  two  years  of  boyhood  life  at  that  place. 

From  thence  I  visited  school  friends  at  Warrensburg,  a 
country  town  in  Greene  County,  on  the  beautiful  Nola 
Chucky;  and  in  company  with  three  companionable  young 
men  we  made  the  journey  by  private  conveyance.  The  road 
lay  along  the  tortuous  banks  of  the  French  Broad,  along  an 
opening  cut  by  the  stream  through  the  Blue  Ridge  Range- 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Hclston        221 

The  railway  now  occupies  the  old  roadbed,  but  then  no  steam 
engine  had  ever  sounded  its  shrill  whistle  through  those  moun- 
tains and  gorges.  It  was  an  inspiring  trip  through  the  most 
romantic  section  of  that  far-famed  "Land  of  the  Sky".  The 
beauties  and  variable  tints  of  an  autumnal  season  were  scat- 
tered in  profusion  over  the  pristine  forests,  and  it  would  take 
the  genius  and  the  pen  of  an  artist  to  do  that  picture  full 
justice. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  we  reached  Asheville,  a 
picturesque  town  nestled  amid  the  foothills  of  the  frowning 
Blue  Ridge.  At  that  time,  far  removed  from  easy  access  to 
the  outside  world,  the  town  had  a  life  all  its  own ;  quiet,  hos- 
pitable, social  and  intelligent.  And  there  were  evidences  of 
prosperity.  The  Church  was  strong  even  then.  That  was  my 
second  view  of  the  Holston  Conference,  noted  for  its  orators 
and  eloquent  men.  My  interest  was  not  so  intense  as  at  first, 
as  I  had  gotten  somewhat  used  to  such  gatherings.  Still  my 
interest  was  great.  I  gazed  upon  a  number  of  aged  men  whom 
I  had  seen  in  the  years  gone  by  at  my  grandmother's  home, 
but  they  did  not  remember  me.  I  was  timid  and  made 
myself  known  to  but  few  of  them.  Among  the  leaders  at  that 
time  were  Jno.  M.  McTeer,  George  W.  Miles,  A.  J.  Frazier, 
Grincefield  Taylor,  David  Sullins,  Frank  Richardson,  B.  W. 
S.  Bishop,  C.  T.  Carroll,  E.  E.  Wiley,  Carroll  Long,  S.  W. 
Wheeler  and  others.    I  eyed  them  and  studied  them  with  care. 

Bishop  Doggett,  stately  and  majestic,  presided.  He  was 
the  same  superior-looking  dignitary  whom  I  saw  in  the  chair 
at  Chattanooga.  One  day  as  he  came  out  of  the  building 
near  where  I  stood  I  timidly  approached  him  and  introduced 
myself  to  him,  the  first  Bishop  whose  hand  I  had  ever. grasped. 
But  he  was  so  dignified  and  measured  that  I  felt  overawed 
and  abashed  «nd  retreated  from  his  presence  as  soon  as  pos- 


-222  The  Story  of  My  Life 

sible.  On  Sunday  he  preached  a  great  sermon.  He  never 
preached  any  other  kind.  His  subject  was  the  "Two  Resur- 
rections :  the  Spiritual  and  the  Bodily".  And  it  was  a  master- 
ful effort.  Its  effect  was  wonderful.  After  his  death  a  volume 
of  those  great  sermons  was  published  by  our  House,  but  not 
even  one  edition  of  them  was  exhausted.  To  me  this  is  in- 
comprehensible. No  such  finished  pulpit  orations  have  ever 
been  put  into  Southern  Methodist  literature.  But  they  failed 
utterly  to  strike  a  popular  chord  when  committed  to  cold, 
dead  print. 

I  do  not  remember  anything  specially  interesting  that  trans- 
pired at  that  conference,  except  the  reading  of  the  appoint- 
ments. This  part  of  any  conference  session  is  always  inter- 
esting. Along  with  a  large  class  I  was  received  into 
the  conference  and  I  was  read  out  junior  preacher  under 
Dr.  J.  H.  Keith,  on  the  Marion  Circuit,  Smyth  County,  Vir- 
ginia. I  had  never  heard  of  the  place  before,  but  the  next 
morning  with  my  three  companions  I  started  back  down  the 
same  road  over  which  we  had  come  in  order  to  reach  the 
East  Tennessee  and  Virginia  Railroad  to  take  passage  for  my 
field  of  labor.  All  four  of  us  were  assigned  work  back  in 
Tennessee  except  myself.  With  high  hopes  and  buoyant  spirits 
we  discussed  our  plans  and  prospects.  I  was  transported  with 
the  thought  that  I  had  been  received  into  the  conference  and 
was  given  a  place  to  work.  It  made  no  difference  to  me  if  it 
was  away  up  in  Virginia  where  everything  and  everybody 
were  strange  to  me.  It  was  an  open  field  and  that  was  enough 
for  me. 

When  I  reached  Marion  I  found  it  the  shire  town  of  Smyth, 
situated  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  blue-grass  valleys  in  the 
world.  A  branch  of  the  Holston  River  flowed  through  it  and 
the  mountains  in  the  distance  and  on  either  side  guarded  its 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Holston        223 

sanctity  like  supernatural  sentinels.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  sections  of  country  upon  which  my  eyes  have  ever 
gazed.  Throughout  the  county  I  found  the  people  well-to-do 
farmers  and  cattlemen ;  thrifty,  hardy,  moral  and  intelligent 
Many  of  them  had  been  educated  at  Emory  and  Henry  Col- 
lege, not  far  below.  The  town  itself  was  made  up  of  most 
excellent  people. 

The  very  afternoon  that  I  arrived  a  man  came  in  from 
Greenwood  Church  to  see  if  either  one  of  the  new  preachers 
had  come.  He  said  they  had  a  good  meeting  in  progress.  I 
joined  him  and  held  service  that  night.  I  remained  a  day  or 
two  and  dropped  out  long  enough  to  go  back  to  town  and 
preach  Sunday  morning.  In  the  afternoon  I  went  to  Mount 
Carmel,  three  miles  up  the  valley,  and  preached.  In  the 
progress  of  my  discourse  Uncle  John  Killinger,  whom  I  did 
not  know,  got  happy  and  emitted  a  regular  warwhoop  that 
knocked  me  clear  off  the  track.  He  often  did  that,  as  I  after- 
wards learned.  That  night  I  held  service  again  in  town.  I 
was  given  a  splendid  reception.  I  was  the  first  young  preacher 
that  they  had  ever  had  on  that  circuit,  and  the  young  people 
took  to  me.  On  my  way  home  after  service  to  spend  the  night 
with  old  Brother  Henry  Sprinkle  I  overheard  a  conversation 
among  some  girls.  One  of  them  said :  "Well,  he  has  knocked 
all  our  chance  at  him  out,  for  he  distinctly  said  that  'he  was 
determined  not  to  know  anything  among  us  except  Christ  and 
him  crucified'."  The  remark  was  a  little  irreverent,  but  it  was 
witty. 

My  cash  had  run  low,  I  had  no  horse  and  the  railway  did 
not  reach  the  remote  portions  of  the  work.  So  imagine  my 
surprise  when  one  day  a  committee  waited  on  me  and  pre- 
sented me  a  spanking  black  horse  with  a  brand-new  saddle, 
bridle  and  saddlebags.    He  was  a  beauty.    I  was  never  so  set 


224  The  Story  of  My  Life 

up  in  all  my  life.  He  was  the  pride  of  the  valley.  I  learned 
to  love  him  like  a  brother.  And  my  love  for  those  good  people 
had  no  words  to  express  itself.  I  did  not  spend  much  time  in 
town,  but  careered  over  that  valley  and  those  hills  and  among" 
the  hospitable  families  on  the  work. 

I  finished  the  meeting  at  Greenwood  and  plunged  into  an- 
other one  down  at  Mount  Zion.  It  was  on  the  river  out  in  the 
mountains  among  a  mining  population.  They  worked  the 
Baryta  mines.  A  few  were  substantial  farmers.  The  meeting 
developed  a  marvelous  interest  from  the  word  go.  The  house 
was  crowded  and  the  altar  was  filled  with  penitents  at  every 
service.  It  was  the  noisiest  meeting  I  ever  attended.  Some- 
times it  was  tumultuous. 

One  morning  I  wanted  to  talk  to  the  penitents,  but  the  con- 
fusion was  so  great  that  I  could  not  be  heard.  I  finally  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  them  all  quiet  but  one  big  fat  German.  In 
spite  of  himself  he  would  continue  to  shout  out  in  a  sup- 
pressed voice:  "Religion  has  a  power  in  it."  I  remarked  to 
him :  "Yes,  Paul  made  that  discovery  several  centuries  ago." 
That  touched  him  off  and  he  rejoined :  "Veil,  von  ting  vas 
sure  and  dat  vas  Paul's  head  vas  level  von  time."  That 
started  the  thing  off  and  I  made  no  further  effort  to  quiet  it. 

In  that  meeting  I  had  scores  of  conversions,  but  one  of  them 
was  the  most  remarkable  in  my  experience.  It  was  Z.  N. 
Harris.  He  was  a  heavy-set  fellow,  about  forty  years  old, 
with  a  striking  face,  a  big  head  covered  with  reddish  hair 
and  a  long,  flowing  beard  of  the  same  complexion.  He  had 
the  most  determined  look  upon  his  face  that  I  had  ever  seen. 
At  one  of  the  night  services  he  was  present — the  first  time  he 
had  ever  been  seen  at  Church.  To  the  surprise  of  everybody 
he  came  to  the  altar  and  became  greatly  concerned.  He  said 
to  me:     "Preacher,  I  am  the  hardest  case  you  ever  tackled. 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Holston        225 

I  am  as  mean  as  the  Devil.  For  years  my  life  has  been  an 
awful  life.  Do  you  reckon  there's  any  chance  for  me?"  I 
encouraged  him  all  I  could,  but  he  left  without  any  comfort. 

On  my  way  home  to  spend  the  night  with  Brother  Meek 
he  said:  "That  man  Harris  is  the  terror  of  this  community. 
He  dropped  in  here  a  few  years  ago  after  the  war  and  took 
up  with  a  woman  and  they  have  been  living  away  up  the 
river  in  a  wild  sort  of  place.  I  believe  he  is  a  wildcat  dis- 
tiller. He  is  a  professional  gambler.  He  spends  much  of  his 
time  following  the  courts  around  when  they  are  in  session 
plying  his  trade.  He  is  a  dangerous  man  and  keeps  the  worst 
sort  of  a  crowd  about  him.  Decent  people  never  go  near  his 
home.  If  he  is  converted  in  the  meeting  it  will  be  a  great 
blessing  to  us  all." 

The  next  morning  Harris  was  back  at  service  at  the  altar. 
He  seemed  much  troubled.  At  the  close  of  the  service  I  had 
another  talk  with  him.  Among  other  things,  I  advised  him 
to  go  to  town  and  get  a  license  and  let  me  marry  him  to  the 
woman  who  was  then  only  his  common-law  wife.  He  wanted 
to  know  if  that  would  do  any  good,  that  they  had  four  chil- 
dren. I  explained  to  him  that  it  would  be  complying  with 
God's  law. 

That  night  we  had  a  great  crowd.  During  the  preliminaries 
some  one  handed  me  the  marriage  license.  I  stated  the  nature 
of  the  document  and  requested  the  parties  to  come  forward, 
and  Harris  from  the  men's  side  and  the  woman  from  the 
women's  side  came  to  the  altar.  I  proceeded  to  marry  them 
and  the  congregation  certainly  craned  their  necks  and  looked 
at  each  other  in  astonishment.  I  preached  from  the  text: 
"How  earnest  thou  in  hither  not  having  on  the  wedding  gar- 
ment?" Harris  and  his  wife  were  the  first  to  prostrate  them- 
selves at  the  mourner's  bench.     I  have  never  seen   greater 


226  The  Story  of  My  Life 

anguish.  The  people  prayed  and  we  talked  to  them  until  late. 
By  and  by  Mrs.  Harris  came  through  with  a  long,  loud  shout 
of  praise  and  it  electrified  the  congregation.  We  had  quite  a 
scene.  Harris  struggled  on  and  about  midnight  he  sprang 
from  his  knees  and  made  the  welkin  ring  with  his  praises.  It 
was  the  old-time  religion.  The  audience  went  wild  and  I 
stood  in  the  pulpit  and  watched  them.  It  was  hardly  safe  for 
me  anywhere  else.     It  was  a  glorious  scene. 

At  the  close  Harris  came  to  me  and  said:  "Preacher,  you 
must  go  home  with  me  and  spend  the  night."  He  mounted 
his  horse  with  his  wife  behind  him  and  we  started  up  the 
stream,  winding  in  and  out  along  the  many  curves  and  in- 
dentures. When  we  reached  his  residence  it  was  situated  in 
a  natural  basin  among  the  hills  with  a  goodly  section  of  open 
land  around  him.  It  was  a  log  house  with  two  rooms  and 
a  loft.  I  went  in  while  he  cared  for  the  horses.  He  entered 
and  stirred  the  fire  and  seated  himself  and  proceeded : 

"Preacher,  this  is  the  first  time  that  a  good  man  has  ever 
been  in  this  hut.  Your  sort  are  strangers  here.  Now  I  want 
to  wake  up  the  kids  and  have  'em  baptized.  Then  I  want  you 
to  dedicate  this  home.  We've  gone  into  this  business  and  we 
want  to  go  the  whole  hog." 

I  baptized  the  four  children  and  then  in  a  prayer  dedicated 
the  home.  He  took  me  up  the  ladder  to  the  loft  where  there 
was  a  strange  sort  of  bed ;  and  with  all  sorts  of  covering  over 
me  and  a  fine  opportunity  to  study  astronomy  through  the 
cracks,  I  never  slept  more  delightfully  in  my  life.  The  next 
morning  he  gathered  up  several  decks  of  cards  and  threw 
them  into  the  fire  and  he  dumped  three  or  four  ugly-looking 
old  army  pistols  and  a  few  savage  knives  into  the  stream. 
He  went  at  the  new  life  in  the  most  business-like  sort  of  way. 
He  told  me  much  of  his  past  life,  and  it  was  as  thrilling  as  a. 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Holston        22J 

romance  mixed  with  the  dramatic  and  the  tragic.  It  would 
make  a  book  within  itself  and  it  would  read  like' a  yellow-back 
novel,  except  it  would  contain  the  truth. 

When  Dr.  Keith  arrived  upon  the  work  I  had  more  than 
one  hundred  applicants  ready  for  Church  membership.  They 
were  there  and  at  other  places.  We  made  Z.  N.  Harris  a 
steward  and  a  Sunday-school  superintendent,  and  he  became 
as  zealous  in  the  cause  of  righteousness  as  he  had  been  in 
his  life  of  wickedness.  He  never  had  but  one  setback,  and 
that  did  not  last  long.  A  bully  in  the  neighborhood  who  did 
not  like  him,  anyway,  took  advantage  of  his  Church  relation 
to  try  to  impose  on  him  one  day  and  attacked  him.  The  old 
habit  got  the  upper  hand  of  Harris  and  that  man  had  the 
rest  of  his  life  to  repent  of  his  mistake.  But  it  cost  Harris 
his  liberty  for  a  season.  He  came  out  of  it  all  right  and  several 
years  after  that  I  asked  the  preacher  at  conference,  who  had 
traveled  that  charge  the  previous  year,  how  Harris  was  doings 
and  he  informed  me  that  he  was  the  same  earnest  and  devoted 
man  to  the  Church. 

We  had  a  great  year.  Dr.  Keith  was  a  most  lovable  man 
and  he  treated  me  with  every  kindness.  We  had  good  meet- 
ings at  all  our  societies.  It  was  one  of  the  happiest  years  of 
my  life.  I  had  a  great  time  with  the  good  country  people. 
It  was  in  the  midst  of  sugar  orchards.  They  made  tree  sugar, 
and  many  a  night  I  stood  around  the  campfires  and  helped 
the  young  people  stir  off  syrup  and  tree  sugar.  I  had  great 
influence  with  them.  Some  of  the  best  friends  of  my  life  I 
made  on  that  circuit.  I  have  namesakes  to  this  day  scattered 
over  it.  The  good  women  knit  hose  for  me,  the  young  ladies 
supplied  me  with  yarn  gloves  and  nubias,  the  merchants  fur- 
nished me  with  clothes,  even  shoes  were  presented  to  me.  I 
scarcely  had  a  dollar  of  expense.     I  had  seventeen  appoint-* 


228  The  Story  of  My  Life 

ments  and  usually  I  preached  every  other  day  and  twice  or 
three  times  on  Sunday.  They  gave  me  that  fine  horse  and 
paid  me  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  cash. 

The  year  drew  to  a  close.  But  before  starting  for  confer- 
ence I  must  tell  you  about  a  special  friend  on  that  work  and 
my  experience  with  him  at  his  old  father's  home.  His  name 
was  Mitch  Burkitt,  but  not  related  to  my  old  Tennessee 
teacher.  He  was  tall  and  gangling,  with  claybank  hair  and 
complexion  and  his  long,  shaggy  beard  was  of  a  flaxen  hue. 
His  face  was  long  and  bony.  He  was  horridly  ugly  and  not 
overly  smart.  But  all  that  he  lacked  in  good  looks  and  intelli- 
gence he  more  than  made  up  in  goodness.  He  took  a  great 
fancy  to  me  because  I  was  kind  to  his  old  father  and  used  to 
go  out  to  his  home  in  Brushy  Mountain  and  hold  service  for 
him,  since  he  was  not  able  to  get  out  to  the  Church. 

The  first  time  I  did  this  a  funny  thing  happened  to  me. 
The  house  was  a  log  building,  long  and  substantial,  but  un- 
sightly. And  it  occupied  a  lonesome-looking  spot.  The  big 
room  was  cleared  after  supper  and  planks  were  brought  in  to 
make  improvised  seats.  The  neighbors  had  been  invited  and 
quite  a  company  gathered.  After  the  service  I  noticed  that  a 
number  of  the  elderly  and  a  few  of  the  younger  women  lin- 
gered. After  awhile  Mitch  escorted  me  to  the  second  floor 
by  a  rude  sort  of  stairway.  I  found  one  long  room  up  there 
running  the  length  of  the  house.  On  either  side  there  were 
two  big  fat  feather  beds  standing  up  high  and  one  at  the  end. 
It  was  not  long  until  I  had  climbed  up  and  tumbled  into  one 
of  them  head  and  ears  and  pulled  the  good  homemade  blankets 
and  quilts  over  me  for  a  night  of  rest. 
'  I  did  not  immediately  fall  to  sleep,  and  after  a'  short  time 
l Mitch  came  up  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  softly,  called  me. 
J  listened  and  heard  nothing  more  from  him,  and  as  I  lay 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Holston        229 

there  quietly  I  heard  two  of  those  women  tip  upstairs  as 
noiselessly  as  two  cats  and  stealthily  undress  and  get  into  a 
bed  just  across  the  room.  Directly  two  others  tipped  up  and 
did  likewise,  and  so  on  until  all  four  of  those  beds  were  full. 
I  lay  there  as  quietly  as  a  mouse  and  fell  into  a  sound  sleep. 
I  awoke  after  daylight  and  was  afraid  to  turn  over,  much 
less  look  out.  I  was  in  an  embarrassing  predicament  and  won- 
dered how  on  earth  I  was  to  be  extricated.  But  deliverance 
soon  came.  Mitch  came  bounding  awkwardly  up  the  steps 
and  shouted:  "It's  time  to  roust  out  Br'er  Rankins.  Break- 
fast's 'bout  ready."  I  threw  back  the  cover  and  all  four  of 
those  beds  were  in  the  same  condition  I  had  found  them 
when  I  climbed  the  steps  the  night  before!  Those  good 
woman  had  slipped  out  as  noiselessly  before  day  as  they  had 
come  up  the  night  before,  made  up  the  beds  and  were  gone. 
And  nobody  ever  knew  but  myself  that  they  spent  the  night 
in  that  room  with  me  in  the  home  of  old  Brother  Burkitt. 

I  had  one  more  experience  with  Mitch.  It  was  at  my  last 
appointment  at  Fulton's  Chapel,  the  Church  that  he  attended. 
I  had  already  prepared  my  farewell  sermon  and  preached  it 
at  the  other  places  on  the  work.  It  was  on  the  regulation 
text — "Finally,  brethren,  farewell,"  etc.  It  was  tender  and 
touching.  A  large  congregation  greeted  me.  I  preached 
effectively  and  moved  their  sympathies  greatly.  It  was  a 
sobbing  time.  They  would  look  on  my  face  no  more  and 
they  were  in  tears.  At  the  close  they  flocked  round  me  and 
shook  my  hand  tenderly  and  affectionately.     They  loved  me. 

After  they  were  through  Mitch,  who  had  been  standing  off 
blubbering,  came  round  and  grasped  my  hand  and  said: 
"Br'er  Rankins,  it  most  breaks  my  heart  to  say  good-bye.  D'u 
reckon  I'll  never  see  you  no  more?"  I  told  him  no,  that  I 
would  not  return.    Then  he  sobbed  and  said:    "Ef  I  thought 


230 


The  Story  of  My  Life 


'Ef  I  thawt  yo*d  never  be  back  no  more  I'd  have  you  preach 
my  funeral  'fore  you  leave." 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Holsion        231 

you'd  never  come  back  I'd  sho  have  you  to  preach  my  funeral 
'fore  you  leave  these  here  diggins." 

Now  this  was  the  greatest  compliment  that  he  could  have 
paid  me  when  it  is  remembered  that  in  that  country  it  was 
common  for  a  neighborhood  to  save  up  two  or  three  funerals 
sometimes  for  three  or  four  years  and  then  invite  their  favor- 
ite minister  back  to  preach  them  on  some  great  day.  But  it 
so  happened  that  the  next  year  I  was  sent  to  the  adjoining 
circuit  and  had  one  appointment  not  far  from  the  Burkitt 
home  and  preached  to  Mitch  every  time  I  went  to  that  ap- 
pointment. But  the  ridiculousness  of  the  experience  made 
that  the  last  farewell  sermon  I  ever  tried  to  preach.  The  old 
custom,  however,  has  long  ago  passed  out  of  use. 

During  that  year  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  that  celebrated 
preacher,  the  Rev.  W.  E.  Munsey,  D.  D.,  the  most  noted 
preacher  that  the  Holston  Conference  has  ever  produced.  Our 
District  Conference,  with  Rev.  George  W.  Miles  in  the  chair, 
met  at  Floyd  Courthouse,  and  Munsey  was  present.  His 
health  had  recently  failed  under  the  strain  of  his  pastorate 
in  Baltimore  and  he  was  back  in  the  hill  country  to  recuperate. 
While  taking  this  needed  rest  he  would  occasionally  preach  or 
lecture.  It  was  my  privilege  at  this  gathering  to  see  much 
of  him  and  to  hear  one  of  his  marvelous  sermons.  Though 
rundown  in  body  he  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame  as  a 
preacher.  His  name  was  on  everybody's  lips  in  all  that  sec- 
tion. He  was  the  pulpit  and  platform  wonder  of  that  day. 
No  such  man  had  ever  appeared  before  the  listening  throngs 
of  that  generation  and  his  presence  inspired  great  interest 
and  expectation. 

He  was  a  very  peculiar-looking  man.  There  was  something 
almost  abnormal  in  his  personal  appearance.  He  was  very 
tall  and  slender.     His  arms  and  limbs  were  long  and  un- 


232  The  Story  of  My  Life 

gainly.  His  head  was  not  unusually  large,  rather  cone-like 
in  shape  and  as  innocent  of  hair  as  a  peeled  onion.  It  is  said 
that  in  his  studious  moments  of  abstraction  it  had  been  his 
habit  for  years  to  pluck  out  his  hair  all  unconscious  of  what 
he  was  doing.  I  am  prepared  to  believe  this  story,  for  while 
seated  behind  him  one  morning  at  Church  he  was  constantly 
trying  to  get  hold  of  his  hair  while  listening  to  the  sermon, 
but  there  was  none  for  his  fingers  to  touch.    It  was  all  gone. 

His  eyes  were  small  and  deeply  set,  his  nostrils  and  lips 
were  thin  and  his  complexion  almost  saffron.  He  looked  like 
a  walking  skeleton.  -And  in  his  absent-mindedness,  when  in 
motion  or  in  repose,  he  looked  like  a  wild  man.  In  the  pri- 
vate circle  he  was  as  simple  as  a  child.  There  was  nothing 
repellent  in  his  manner ;  anybody  could  approach  him.  He 
was  confiding  and  at  times  helpless  in  his  disposition.  Children 
were  fond  of  him,  and  I  have  seen  him  turn  away  from  ad- 
miring grown  people  and  actually  play  with  the  little  tots 
around  the  fireside.  He  had  a  good  sense  of  humor  and 
occasionally  would  relate  an  anecdote,  but  for  the  most  part  he 
was  serious  and  somber. 

Frequently  he  seemed  lost  in  reverie  and  he  looked  like  a 
man  living  in  dreamland.  I  observed  him  now  and  then  as 
he  sat  in  the  company  of  his  friends,  or  as  with  a  quick 
jerk  he  would  rise  and  walk  back  and  forth  across  the  floor, 
and  he  would  be  wholly  unconscious  of  his  surroundings. 
To  me  he  was  the  most  pleading  and  pathetic  man  I  ever 
knew.  When  looking  at  you  in  private  conversation  his  eyes 
seemed  to  appeal  to  you  for  sympathy  and  confidence. 

His  intellect  was  of  an  extraordinary  type.  He  was  won- 
derfully gifted  with  genius.  He  possessed  powers  of  analysis 
of  a  high  order.  There  was  consecutiveness  in  his  thinking. 
He  had  the  gift  of  penetration,  and  his  ability  to  concentrate 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Hoiston        233 

his  attention  surpassed  anything  I  have  ever  known.  He 
could  positively  hold  his  thought  upon  a  given  subject  just 
like  a  physician  holds  the  X-ray  on  the  object  of  his  exami- 
nation. His  memory  was  positively  prodigious.  I  doubt  if 
he  ever  forgot  anything  he  read  or  heard.  He  combined  the 
elements  of  the  poet,  the  logician,  the  philosopher,  the  orator — 
a  combination  rarely  found  in  one  personality. 

He  was  a  profound  student,  a  voracious  reader,  a  system- 
atic thinker  and  an  idealist  of  the  loftiest  character.  No  won- 
der he  was  abnormal.  In  fact,  there  were  times  when  he  lived 
in  close  proximity  to  the  borderland  of  insanity.  Hence  the 
rules  that  govern  ordinary  men  were  not  applicable  to  him, 
and  his  conduct  could  not  always  be  judged  by  the  same 
standards  that  applied  to  normal  men.  He  was  the  only  one 
of  his  class. 

As  a  preacher,  it  is  difficult  to  describe  Dr.  Munsey.  Often 
I  used  to  listen  to  him  in  wonder  and  astonishment  and  try 
to  study  him,  his  style,  his  subject-matter,  his  magnetism, 
profound  thought,  his  unique  vocabulary,  his  diction,  his  sub- 
lime flights  of  oratory,  his  rhythmic  eloquence  and  his  poetic 
instinct ;  but  he  gripped  me  with  such  a  spell  of  influence  and 
subtle  force  that  all  my  effort  was  impotent.  I  would  sit  and 
wonder  and  admire  until  I  was  lost  amid  the  mazes  of  the 
man's  wondrous  powers  of  thought  and  speech  and  action. 
It  was  like  the  charm  of  magic ;  at  times  it  was  oppressive. 

At  the  District  Conference,  when  I  heard  him  the  first 
time,  it  was  at  the  evening  service  and  his  subject  was  "The 
Lost  Soul",  and  it  gave  full  play  to  his  wondrous  gifts  and 
marvelous  powers.  He  had  his  manuscript  before  him,  but 
rarely  ever  made  any  use  of  it.  During  the  first  few  minutes 
his  strange  voice  was  rather  husky  and  pitched  on  a  high  key. 
His  manner  was  nervous  and  jerky  and  he  seemed  ill  at  ease. 


234  The  Story  of  My  Life 

His  weird  presence  and  his  wild,  unnatural  look  gave  me  the 
creeps  and  I  sat  and  looked  and  wondered.  I  had  possessed 
the  same  feeling  in  my  boyhood  days  in  passing  a  haunted 
house  after  nightfall.  But  suddenly  his  whole  presence  and 
attitude  changed.  He  looked  like  another  being.  His  form 
became  erect,  his  movements  easy  and  graceful  and  his  un- 
canny voice  took  on  all  the  mellifluent  variations  of  the  gamut. 
His  eyes  kindled  into  a  stranger  luster,  his  countenance  bright- 
ened with  an  unearthly  glow,  his  fiery  thought  broke  forth 
like  a  volcano  in  action,  and  his  words  poured  out  like  smoking 
torrents  of  lava.  His  imagination,  bold,  royal  and  creative, 
threw  pictures  of  awful  grandeur  before  my  eyes  until  I  was 
dazzled  into  a  spell  of  oblivion.  I  was  for  the  time  being  un- 
conscious of  the  real  world  in  which  I  was  living.  I  was 
transported  to  a  new  world,  a  world  of  disembodied  spirits, 
a  frightful  world,  a  world  of  interminable  night,  a  world  far 
removed  from  God  and  hope,  a  world  whose  dismal  caverns 
were  echoing  and  re-echoing  with  the  spectral  cry,  "Lost,  lost, 
lost,  lost!" 

At  this  juncture  a  man  fainted  in  the  audience  and  broke 
the  terrible  strain  of  tension,  and  when  I  came  to  myself 
and  looked  around  me  we  were  all  standing,  as  one  person, 
leaning  toward  the  preacher  in  an  attitude  of  expectancy.  I 
had  read  of  such  a  scene,  but  that  was  the  only  time  in  my 
life  that  I  ever  saw  it  and  constituted  a  part  of  it. 

This  was  Dr.  W.  E.  Munsey,  the  product  of  the  Holston 
pulpit,  the  man  who  never  went  to  school,  yet  the  man  who 
had  read  everything  and  almost  mastered  every  available  de- 
partment of  knowledge;  the  prodigy  of  the  pulpit  in  the  hill 
country,  the  man  with  a  meteoric  career,  whose  end  was  so 
sudden  and  so  pathetic.  I  heard  him  in  a  private  talk  to  a 
crowd  of  us  young  preachers  one  day  say: 


The  Conference  and  My  First  Year  in  Holston        235 

"Boys,  study  to  be  great  and  useful  preachers,  but  eschew 
a  reputation.  My  reputation  as  a  preacher  has  been  my  snare. 
People  will  not  let  me  do  otherwise  than  strive  to  meet  ex- 
pectations, and  to  gratify  them  I  have  immolated  myself  upon 
the  altar  of  my  reputation  and  genius.  I  have  almost  wor- 
shiped at  the  shrine  of  my  intellect ;  and  to-day  when  I  ought 
to  be  in  the  prime  of  my  useful  manhood  I  am  practically 
a  walking  wreck  physically  and  on  the  verge  of  ruin  intel- 
lectually." 

He  spoke  earnestly,  but  in  answer  to  questions  we  asked 
him.  It  was  my  fortune  to  hear  him  often,  but  it  was  not 
long  after  that  conversation  until  his  aching  nerves  found  sur- 
cease from  pain  in  the  sleep  of  death,  and  the  generous  grave 
swept  away  forever  the  clouds  that  gathered  around  the  sun- 
set of  his  brilliant  life. 

The  Methodist  pulpit  never  saw  his  like  before  and  it  will 
never  behold  his  like  again.  He  had  no  predecessor,  and  it 
is  certain  that  he  will  never  have  one  to  succeed  him.  Solitary, 
unique  and  original,  he  stands  out  in  history  alone  as  the  only 
one  of  his  type  among  all  the  preachers  of  world-wide 
Methodism. 


Chapter  XVII 

Two  More  Years  in  Southwest 
Virginia 

My  next  conference  was  at  Knoxville  and  I  brought  to  it 
my  bride.  She  was  the  black-haired  and  brown-eyed  girl  who 
was  present  some  years  before  when  Aunt  Rachel  Stone 
spoiled  my  first  sermon  at  Cove  City.  It  was  not  long  after 
that  until  our  courtship  began,  and  it  was  consummated  a  few 
weeks  prior  to  the  session  of  this  conference.  Her  name  was 
Fannie  L.  Denton  and  her  home  was  Dalton,  Georgia. 

She  belonged  to  an  old  South  Carolina  family  and  they 
were  Methodists  from  time  immemorial.  She  was  well  edu- 
cated, refined  and  accustomed  to  the  ways  of  polite  society; 
but  above  all  she  was  devoutly  religious  and  devoted  to  the 
Church.  As  a  result  from  that  day  until  the  present  time 
she  has  been  a  faithful  wife,  a  self-sacrificing  mother  and  an 
earnest  worker  in  the  Church  of  Christ. 

She  accepted  from  the  beginning  all  the  hardships  of  the 
itinerant  ministry  and  she  has  gone  with  me  from  pillar  to 
post  without  murmuring  or  complaining.  She  has  done  her 
part  to  make  my  service  to  the  Church  unreserved  and  com- 
plete. Her  children  and  her  home  have  been  her  delight  and 
her  life  and  mine  have  been  a  unit  in  our  effort  to  bring  up 
our  household  in  the  fear  of  God  and  to  make  the  gospel  of 
his  Son  the  chief  object  in  our  thoughts  and  labors.     She  is 


Two  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia  237 

still  my  support  and  stay  in  the  work  which  the  Church  has 
committed  to  my  hand. 

Knoxville  at  that  time  was  the  leading  city  in  East  Ten- 
nessee, even  as  it  is  to-day.  It  is  situated  on  the  French 
Broad  River  and  it  is  beautiful  for  location  and  the  joy  of 
all  that  fertile  section.  Methodism  was  strong  at  that  point 
and  it  gave  to  the  conference  a  royal  entertainment. 

Bishop  McTyeire  presided,  and  this  was  the  first  time  I 
ever  saw  him.  He  was  a  massive  man  in  person,  strong  and 
solid,  rather  slow  in  his  movement  and  speech,  with  a  great 
head  poised  on  a  big  neck.  He  looked  more  like  a  great  jurist 
than  a  Bishop.  His  voice  was  deep  and  commanding  and  he 
was  the  acknowledge  legal  mind  of  the  Church.  He  was  an 
authority  in  all  matters  of  Church  usage  and  parliamentary 
law. 

As  a  preacher  he  was  not  fascinating  in  his  style;  he  was 
deliberate  and  ponderous.  He  was  an  expositor  pure  and 
simple.  He  delighted  in  difficult  texts  and  he  always  gave 
an  audience  something  worthy  of  their  thought,  but  he  was 
not  entertaining  to  the  masses  of  his  congregations.  He  was 
a  wonderfully  instructive  preacher,  lucid  in  his  thinking,  pro- 
found in  his  analysis,  clear  in  his  statements  and  comprehen- 
sive in  his  treatment  of  his  themes. 

Some  years  before  that  he  held  the  conference  for  the  first 
time,  and  around  the  table  of  a  fashionable  home  the  host,  the 
hostess  and  a  number  of  guests  were  discussing  the  Bishop's 
sermon  and  they  had  unanimously  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  a  poor  preacher.  About  that  time  the  Rev.  R.  N. 
Price  walked  in  and  joined  the  company  at  dinner.  He  was 
a  very  original  sort  of  man  himself,  but  a  trifle  eccentric^and 
witty.  He  was  also  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  mind  and 
fine  attainments.      The  hostess  said  to  him: 


238  The  Story  of  My  Life 

"Brother  Price,  we  have  just  been  discussing  the  Bishop 
as  a  preacher  and  we  have  reached  a  unanimous  verdict,  but 
before  we  announce  it  we  want  your  opinion  of  him." 

He  replied:  "Well,  madam,  he  is  a  very  poor  preacher  for 
fools." 

The  verdict  was  reserved  for  another  occasion  and  all  re- 
sponded in  a  laugh.  But  Brother  Price  sized  up  Bishop  Mc- 
Tyeire  as  a  preacher.  He  was  supremely  great  in  his  treat- 
ment of  a  text,  but  not  popular  in  his  manner  of  delivery. 
He  has  long  since  passed  away,  but  in  history  he  stands  out 
as  one  of  the  greatest  Bishops  of  Episcopal  Methodism. 

At  this  conference  I  saw  for  the  first  time  Rev.  O.  P.  Fitz- 
gerald, D.  D.,  the  editor  of  the  Nashville  Christian  Advocate. 
He  wore  a  suit  of  clothes  made  of  blue  jeans.  He  told  us 
that  it  was  presented  to  him  by  a  good  old  North  Carolina 
woman  and  that  he  was  proud  of  it.  I  must  confess  that  it 
did  not  impress  me  favorably.  I  got  the  idea  that  it  was  for 
effect.  I  suppose  I  was  wrong.  I  heard  him  preach,  but  the 
sermon  was  ordinary;  it  was  a  good  exhortation.  But  he  was 
the  most  popular  editor  the  Nashville  Christian  Advocate  has 
ever  had.  We  spoiled  a  fine  editor  when  several  years  after- 
wards we  made  him  a  Bishop.  He  was  a  good  man,  but  never 
a  strong  Bishop.    He  was  an  ideal  editor. 

Rev.  J.  B.  McFerrin,  the  tribune  of  the  people,  was  present, 
I  think  in  the  interest  of  our  Board  of  Missions.  I  had 
seen  him  before,  but  not  at  close  range.  I  met  him  this  time 
and  saw  and  heard  much  of  him.  He  was  a  remarkable  man. 
In  person  he  was  bulky,  with  a  sort  of  a  swinging  motion 
when  he  walked,  had  a  peculiarly-shaped  head  with  well- 
developed  powers  of  perception ;  a  rugged  face,  a  nasal  twang 
in  his  voice,  a  winning  personality,  and  full  of  wit  and  humor. 
He  was  a  self-made  man,  a  fine  judge  of  human  nature,  ac- 


Two  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia  239 

quainted  with  the  practical  affairs  of  life  and  a  most  genial 
and  companionable  man.  He  was  not  difficult  to  approach, 
and  his  greatness  never  oppressed  me. 

It  was  my  pleasure  in  after  life  to  know  him  intimately, 
and  in  many  respects  the  Church  never  had  a  more  conse- 
crated man.  He  was  superlatively  great  in  his  simplicity. 
He  was  not  eloquent  in  his  diction,  but  he  was  eloquent  in 
his  thought  and  in  his  illustrations  and  in  his  magnetism. 
He  never  failed  to  capture  his  congregations. 

I  passed  my  examinations  and  that  year  I  was  sent  to  the 
Wytheville  Station  and  Circuit.  That  was  adjoining  my 
former  charge.  We  reached  the  old  parsonage  on  the  pike 
j-ust  out  of  Wytheville  as  Rev.  B.  W.  S.  Bishop  moved  out. 
Charley  Bishop  was  then  a  little  tow-headed  boy.  He  is  now 
the  learned  Regent  of  Southwestern  University.  The  par- 
sonage was  an  old  two-and-a-half-story  structure  with  nine 
rooms  and  it  looked  a  little  like  Hawthorne's  house  with  the 
seven  gables.  It  was  the  lonesomest-looking  old  house  I  ever 
saw.  There  was  no  one  there  to  meet  us,  for  we  had  not 
notified  anybody  of  the  time  we  would  arrive. 

Think  of  taking  a  young  bride  to  that  sort  of  a  mansion ! 
But  she  was  brave  and  showed  no  sign  of  disappointment. 
That  first  night  we  felt  like  two  whortleberries  in  a  Virginia 
tobacco  wagonbed.  We  had  room  and  to  spare,  but  it  was 
scantily  furnished  with  specimens  as  antique  as  those  in  Noah's 
ark.  But  in  a  week  or  so  we  were  invited  out  to  spend  the 
day  with  a  good  family,  and  when  we  went  back  we  found 
the  doors  fastened  just  as  we  had  left  them,  but  when  we 
entered  a  bedroom  was  elegantly  furnished  with  everything 
modern  and  the  parlor  was  in  fine  shape.  The  ladies  had 
been  there  and  done  the  work.  How  much  does  the  preacher 
owe  to  the  good  women  of  the  Church! 


240  The  Story  of  My  Life 

The  circuit  was  a  large  one,  comprising  seventeen  appoint- 
ments. They  were  practically  scattered  all  over  the  county. 
I  preached  every  other  day,  and  never  less  than  twice  and 
generally  three  times  on  Sunday. 

I  had  associated  with  me  that  year  a  young  collegemate, 
Rev.  W.  B.  Stradley.  He  was  a  bright,  popular  fellow,  and 
we  managed  to  give  Wytheville  regular  Sunday  preaching. 
Stradley  became  a  great  preacher  and  died  a  few  years  ago 
while  pastor  of  Trinity  Church,  Atlanta,  Georgia.  We  were 
true  yokefellows  and  did  a  great  work  on  that  charge,  held 
fine  revivals  and  had  large  ingatherings. 

The  famous  Cripple  Creek  Campground  was  on  that  work. 
They  have  kept  up  campmeetings  there  for  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years.  It  is  still  the  great  rallying  point  for  the  Metho- 
dists of  all  that  section.  I  have  never  heard  such  singing  and 
preaching  and  shouting  anywhere  else  in  my  life.  I  met  the 
Rev.  John  Boring  there  and  heard  him  preach.  He  was  a 
well-known  preacher  in  the  conference;  original,  peculiar, 
strikingly  odd,  but  a  great  revival  preacher. 

One  morning  in  the  beginning  of  the  service  he  was  to 
preach  and  he  called  the  people  to  prayer.  He  prayed  loud 
and  long  and  told  the  Lord  just  what  sort  of  a  meeting  we 
were  expecting  and  really  exhorted  the  people  as  to  their 
conduct  on  the  grounds.  Among  other  things,  he  said  we 
wanted  no  horse-trading  and  then  related  that  just  before 
kneeling  he  had  seen  a  man  just  outside  the  encampment 
looking  into  the  mouth  of  a  horse  and  he  made  such  a  peculiar 
sound  as  he  described  the  incident  that  I  lifted  up  my  head 
to  look  at  him,  and  he  was  holding  his  mouth  open  with  his 
hands  just  as  the  man  had  done  in  looking  into  the  horse's 
mouth!  But  he  was  a  man  of  power  and  wrought  well  for 
the  Church  and  for  humanity. 


Two  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia  241 

The  rarest  character  I  ever  met  in  my  life  I  met  at  that 
campmeeting  in  the  person  of  Rev.  Robert  Sheffy,  known  as 
"Bob"  Sheffy.  He  was  recognized  all  over  Southwest  Vir- 
ginia as  the  most  eccentric  preacher  of  that  country.  He  was 
a  local  preacher;  crude,  illiterate,  queer  and  the  oddest  speci- 
men known  among  preachers.  But  he  was  saintly  in  his  life, 
devout  in  his  experience  and  a  man  of  unbounded  faith.  He 
wandered  hither  and  thither  over  that  section  attending  meet- 
ings, holding  revivals  and  living  among  the  people.  He  was 
great  in  prayer,  and  Cripple  Creek  campground  was  not  com- 
plete without  "Bob"  Sheffy.  They  wanted  him  there  to  pray 
and  work  in  the  altar. 

He  was  wonderful  with  penitents.  And  he  was  great  in 
following  up  the  sermon  with  his  exhortations  and  appeals. 
He  would  sometimes  spend  nearly  the  whole  night  in  the 
straw  with  mourners ;  and  now  and  then  if  the  meeting  lagged 
he  would  go  out  on  the  mountain  and  spend  the  entire  night 
in  prayer,  and  the  next  morning  he  would  come  rushing  into 
the  service  with  his  face  all  aglow  shouting  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.  And  then  the  meeting  always  broke  loose  with  a  flood- 
tide. 

He  could  say  the  oddest  things,  hold  the  most  unique  inter- 
views with  God,  break  forth  in  the  most  unexpected  spasms 
of  praise,  use  the  homeliest  illustrations,  do  the  funniest  things 
and  go  through  with  the  most  grotesque  performances  of  any 
man  born  of  woman. 

It  was  just  "Bob"  Sheffy,  and  nobody  thought  anything  of 
what  he  did  and  said,  except  to  let  him  have  his  own  way 
and  do  exactly  as  he  pleased.  In  anybody  else  it  would  not 
have  been  tolerated  for  a  moment.  In  fact,  he  acted  more 
like  a  crazy  man  than  otherwise,  but  he  was  wonderful  in 
a  meeting.     He  would  stir  the  people,  crowd  the  mourner's 


242  The  Story  of  My  Life 

bench  with  crying  penitents  and  have  genuine  conversions 
by  the  score.  I  doubt  if  any  man  in  all  that  conference  has 
as  many  souls  to  his  credit  in  the  Lamb's  Book  of  Life  as  old 
"Bob"  Sheffy. 

At  the  close  of  that  year  in  casting  up  my  accounts  I  found 
that  I  had  received  three  hundred  and  ninety  dollars  for  my 
year's  work,  and  the  most  of  this  had  been  contributed  in 
everything  except  money.  It  required  about  the  amount  of 
cash  contributed  to  pay  my  associate  and  the  Presiding  Elder^ 
I  got  the  chickens,  the'  eggs,  the  butter,  the  ribs  and  back- 
bones, the  corn,  the  meat,  and  the  Presiding  Elder  and  Brother 
Stradley  had  helped  us  to  eat  our  part  of  the  quarterage. 
Well,  we  kept  open  house  and  had  a  royal  time,  even  if  we 
did  not  get  much  ready  cash.  We  lived  and  had  money  enough 
to  get  a  good  suit  of  clothes  and  to  pay  our  way  to  confer- 
ence. What  more  does  a  young  Methodist  preacher  need  or 
want?  We  were  satisfied  and  happy,  and  these  experiences  are 
not  to  be  counted  as  unimportant  assets  in  the  life  and  work 
of  a  Methodist  circuit  rider. 

That  year  the  conference  met  at  Bristol,  and  Bishop  Wight- 
man  presided.  I  have  already  given  my  impressions  of  him 
as  a  Bishop  and  a  preacher.  I  have  no  desire  to  revise  or 
add  to  what  I  have  written  concerning  him.  On  this  occasion 
he  only  enhanced  my  estimate  of  him. 

There  was  nothing  of  special  note  in  this  gathering.  The 
fact  is  it  made  so  little  impression  on  me  that  I  do  not  recall 
any  incident  in  it,  except  that  I  saw  Dr.  T.  O.  Summers  for 
the  first  time.  He  was  the  most  widely-read  and  generally- 
informed  man  I  have  ever  known.  He  knew  everything.  He 
was  a  rotund,  jolly  old  Englishman,  with  a  sunny  disposition 
and  a  very  pleasant  man  to  meet  and  to  know.  Young  men 
felt  very  much  at  home  in  his  presence.     He  was  familiar  in 


Two  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia  243 

his  intercourse  with  them  and  would  say  almost  anything  in 
a  jocular  way  to  them. 

At  eleven  o'clock  he  preached  in  one  of  the  churches,  and 
the  brother  who  was  to  preach  at  night  was  present  to  hear 
him.  The  old  Doctor  took  this  as  a  compliment,  and  so  at 
night  he  went  back  to  hear  the  brother.  John  Paulett,  a 
friend,  went  with  him.  The  sermon  was  a  very  prosy  affair 
and  innocent  of  any  special  interest.  On  the  way  back  to  his 
room  Paulett  had  the  old  Doctor's  arm  and  said  to  him : 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  sermon,  Doctor?" 

The  old  man  immediately  blurted  out: 

"Paulett,  shut  your  month,  sir." 

They  walked  on  about  a  block  in  quiet  and  he  pressed  Pau- 
lett's  arm  tightly  and  said  in  a  suppressed  tone: 

"Paulett,  the  brother  needs  to  read  Summers  on  the  Gospel 
of  Mark  very  closely." 

And  he  chuckled  as  they  went  on  to  his  room. 

That  year  I  was  appointed  to  the  Sweetwater  Female  Dis- 
trict Institute  and  also  to  Athens  Station,  a  few  miles  below. 
This  was  a  new  school  enterprise  and  needed  organizing  and 
I  agreed  to  take  it  for  a  year.  They  were  building  a  new 
church  at  Athens  and  wanted  two  services  a  month,  so  I  had 
the  double  work.  I  will  not  have  much  to  say  about  the  school 
work,  as  it  was  routine  business,  and  not  very  congenial  to 
me.  I  merely  did  my  duty  by  it  and  at  the  close  of  the  term 
gave  it  up  and  devoted  the  rest  of  the  year  to  the  charge  at 
Athens. 

I  had  one  advantage  in  my  Athens  charge ;  I  was  thrown  with 
the  Rev.  Timothy  Sullens,  one  of  the  most  gifted  and  saintly 
characters  I  have  ever  known.  He  started  out  in  early  life  in 
the  conference  and  for  twelve  years  he  careered  all  over  that 
mountain  section,  on  circuits,  in  stations  and  on  districts,  one 


244  The  Story  of  My  Life 

of  the  most  eloquent  preachers  of  his  day;  but  all  at  once  he 
had  a  stroke  of  paralysis  and  for  forty-odd  years  he  had  been, 
not  exactly  helpless,  but  in  such  a  nervous  state  that  he  was 
unable  to  do  any  active  work. 

When  I  knew  him  he  was  an  old  man,  full  of  years,  rich  in 
experience,  bright  in  his  hopes,  interesting  in  his  reminiscences. 
He  had  associated  in  his  early  life  with  the  historic  men  of 
Methodism,  and  to  sit  and  listen  to  him  talk  was  a  rare  treat. 
He  had  heard  Bishop  H.  B.  Bascom  preach  and  often  spoke 
of  the  effect  of  his  great  sermons. 

He  was  one  of  my  wisest  counselors.  I  learned  more  from 
him  about  my  duties  as  a  young  minister  than  any  man  with 
whom  I  have  ever  been  associated.  Just  before  leaving  for 
conference  he  said  to  me: 

"Never  notice  little  things.  Take  it  for  granted  that  no 
one  is  trying  to  offend  you  without  severe  provocation.  Do 
not  let  your  feelings  lie  around  lose  like  a  cat's  tail  for  people 
to  step  on.  The  man  who  is  always  expecting  his  feelings  to 
be  hurt  is  never  disappointed.  When  you  go  to  a  home  always 
labor  under  the  impression  that  the  inmates  are  glad  to  see 
you,  and  when  you  leave  make  yourself  believe  that  they  are 
sorry  you  are  gone.  That  sort  of  a  preacher  will  always  be 
welcomed,  for  he  will  make  himself  so  agreeable  that  people 
will  love  him." 

The  conference  met  that  year  in  Qeveland,  and  Bishop  Dog- 
gett  again  presided.  It  was  the  time  for  the  election  of  dele- 
gates to  the  General  Conference  to  meet  in  Atlanta.  Rev. 
John  M.  McTeer  had  always  been  prominent  in  the  delegation, 
and  he  had  come  to  expect  his  election.  He  was  a  man  of 
large  influence  with  the  Bishops  and  some  of  the  young  preach- 
ers thought  they  had  suffered  because  of  his  partiality  and 
favoritism.     So  they  concluded  to  rebuke  the  old  man  by 


MRS.  LAURA  RANKIN  STEVENS 


Two  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia  245 

leaving  him  off  the  delegation,  which  they  did.  They  took 
up  Rev.  Frank  Richardson  and  put  him  as  chairman  of  the 
delegation.  And  he  has  been  in  every  General  Conference 
since  then,  except  the  one  which  met  in  St.  Louis,  Missouri, 
in  1890.  It  wounded  Brother  McTeer  very  deeply,  but  it 
broke  the  spell  of  his  influence  over  the  conference.  He  was 
never  the  same  in  that  body. 

That  year  I  was  sent  to  Abingdon,  Virginia.  It  was  my 
first  full  station.  While  not  a  large  and  prominent  charge,  yet 
it  was  an  intelligent  and  an  important  one.  Martha  Wash- 
ington College,  the  official  girls'  school  of  the  conference,  was 
located  in  the  town.  It  was  only  nine  miles  below  Emory  and 
Henry  College,  and  the  two  institutions  had  given  training  to 
many  of  the  people  of  the  town. 

My  congregation  was  made  up  largely  of  educated  and  well- 
informed  people.  It  was  an  old  Virginia  town,  with  many  old 
families  of  note  living  there.  The  Floyds,  the  Campbells,  the 
Prestons,  the  Litchfields,  and  others,  were  prominent  folk.  The 
Church  was  not  a  stately  building;  simply  an  old  substantial 
brick,  comfortable  and  commodious.  The  membership  approxi- 
mated three  hundred  souls,  and  they  were  mostly  devout  people 
and  a  good  type  of  Methodists. 

Martha  Washington  College  was  a  noted  school,  largely  at- 
tended and  one  of  the  best  in  the  connection.  Pupils  were 
there,  not  only  from  the  conference  territory,  but  from  various 
States.  Dr.  Warren  Dupree,  one  of  the  best  types  of  the  old 
South  Carolina  citizenship,  was  the  President.  He  was  a 
courtly  gentleman  of  the  old  school ;  polite,  cultured,  high- 
toned  and  genial.  He  was  a  great  advantage  to  me,  for  he  was 
used  to  preachers  and  trained  in  Church  work.  While  not  a 
minister,  yet  he  would  occasionally  conduct  service  for  me  and 
make  most  interesting  talks.    He  was  an  ideal  man  for  such  a 


246  The  Story  of  My  Life 

position.  His  family  was  of  the  best  class.  They  suited  work 
of  that  character. 

But  the  man  who  was  of  most  service  to  me  was  Rev.  E. 
E.  Hoss,  now  one  of  our  greatest  Bishops.  He  had  recently 
returned  from  the  Pacific  Coast,  had  served  Asheville  Station 
six  months,  and  then  had  been  elected  to  a  professorship  in 
Martha  Washington.  He  was  not  far  from  my  own  age,  but 
he  had  been  out  of  school  and  in  active  work  much  longer. 
H'e  was  a  prominent  preacher  even  then.  He  had  a  great 
library  and  he  was  a  close  student  of  the  best  books.  Though 
a  young  man,  he  was  one  of  the  best  read  men  of  that  day. 
He  took  me  under  his  wing  and  gave  me  access  to  his  office 
and  library.  Really  his  office  became  my  study  in  the  fore- 
noons, for  he  was  busy  with  his  class  work  and  I  had  control 
of  it.  And  at  night  we  used  to  study  together.  He  was  a  help 
and  not  a  drawback  to  me.  He  was  an  easy  man  to  preach 
to;  never  critical,  but  responsive  and  helpful.  I  had  but  a 
limited  number  of  books ;  he  had  them  by  the  hundreds  and 
on  all  subjects.  What  a  luxury  that  library  was  to  me !  And 
he  often  preached  for  me,  and  he  preached  with  wonderful 
power.  I  have  often  felt  that  in  the  ardor  of  his  younger  days 
he  was  even  a  more  popular  preacher  than  in  his  more  mature 
years. 

Professor  Hoss,  as  we  then  called  him,  was  a  great  student. 
He  literally  devoured  books,  digested  their  contents,  and  his 
capacious  memory  became  a  veritable  storehouse  of  knowl- 
edge. He  gave  large  promise  of  coming  greatness  and  what 
he  is  to-day  is  the  fulfillment  of  the  expectation  inspired  by 
his  early  promise  as  a  student  and  a  preacher.  From  the 
beginning  he  had  a  wonderfully  fertile  brain  and  a  mind  of 
far-reaching  resourcefulness.  I  esteem  it  exceedingly  fortu- 
nate for  me  that  I  fell  under  his  influences  in  the  formative 


Two  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia  247 

period  of  my  ministry.  It  gave  me  a  mental  impetus  and  put 
me  in  touch  with  sources  of  information  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary value. 

I  had  a  great  revival  of  religion  in  my  charge  that  year. 
Scores  were  converted  and  added  to  the  Church.  The  college 
life  was  deeply  touched  by  its  power.  Nearly  all  the  young 
ladies  not  already  religious  were  won  to  Christ  and  the  in- 
fluence of  that  meeting  radiated  to  many  homes  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  whole  congregation  received  an  uplift  and  the 
worship  became  more  spiritual. 

This  was  a  hard  year  on  me.  It  imposed  a  mental  draft 
upon  my  powers  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  pulpit  and  to 
measure  up  to  the  responsibility  of  the  charge.  I  had  but  a 
limited  stock  of  sermonic  material  on  hand.  My  former 
charges  had  been  large  circuits,  where  it  had  been  necessary 
to  prepare  but  a  couple  of  sermons  a  month.  These  would 
last  me  a  whole  round,  and  when  I  changed  from  one  charge 
to  another  I  repeated  most  of  these  sermons,  instead  of  making 
new  ones. 

I  was  never  greatly  pressed  in  sermon-making.  But  in  the 
course  of  five  or  six  months  on  this  station  I  had  exhausted 
my  supply  and  I  was  living  from  hand  to  mouth.  Exhorta- 
tions and  religious  talks  did  not  do  there ;  I  had  to  have  ser- 
mons, and  measurably  good  ones  at  that. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  year  I  was  in  about  the  same 
condition  of  an  anxious  housewife  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
when  the  winter  supply  is  about  used  up  and  the  summer 
harvest  not  yet  matured  for  use.  It  was  mostly  nip  and  tuck, 
and  sometimes  I  was  nipping  without  being  able  to  tuck. 
My,  but  I  had  to  get  down  to  the  business  of  intellectual  re- 
plenishment! But  it  was  the  very  stimulus  that  I  needed. 
1 1  boarded  that  year  with  S.  N.  Honaker,  a  leading  member 


248  The  Story  of  My  Life 


<*»-•<**■■* 


of  my  Church.  He  was  not  a  cultured  man,  but  he  was  a 
successful  business  man.  He  had  but  little  imagination;  he 
was  too  much  of  German  in  his  temperament  for  that  sort  of 
faculty.  He  was  straightforward  and  a  matter-of-fact  man. 
He  liked  a  plain  gospel  sermon  and  had  no  appreciation  of 
the  ornate  or  the  pictorial.  On  night  in  my  sermon  I  used 
an  illustration  that  was  common  in  that  day,  though  I  have  not 
heard  it  in  a  long  time. 

My  subject  was  "Influence",  and  I  held  up  a  glass  of  water 
and  said  that  if  you  were  to  drop  a  pebble  into  it  the  vibrations 
would  not  cease  until  every  particle  of  fluid  in  the  glass  had 
been  disturbed.  And  on  the  same  principle,  were  you  to  throw 
a  stone  into  the  ocean  the  same  result  would  follow — the  body 
of  water  from  shore  to  shore  would  be  affected  by  it.  And 
then  I  made  the  application. 

We  walked  back  home  together  and  I  noticed  that  Brother 
Honaker  was  in  a  deep  study  and  had  nothing  to  say.  We 
sat  by  the  fire  for  a  time  and  while  the  rest  of  us  were  talka- 
tive he  was  silent.     Finally  he  broke  his  silence  and  said: 

"Brother  Rankin,  that  was  the  biggest  tale  you  told  in  that 
sermon  to-night  that  I  ever  heard  in  the  pulpit." 

I  did  not  know  to  what  he  had  reference  and  asked  him, 
"What  tale?" 

"Why,  that  tale  about  throwing  that  rock  into  the  ocean. 
Anybody  with  a  speck  of  sense  knows  that  if  you  were  to 
throw  the  whole  of  Washington  County  into  the  ocean  it  would 
not  jar  it  one  hundred  feet  from  where  it  went  in.  I've  seen 
the  ocean  and  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about." 

That  is  the  last  time  I  ever  used  an  illustration  in  the  pulpit 
that  was  qualified  to  make  a  deeper  impression  than  the  ap- 
plication I  wanted  to  make  of  it.  The  fact  is,  it  is  not  a  good 
idea  to  make  your  illustrations  too  impressive,  however  true 


Tzvo  More  Years  in  Southwest  Virginia  249 

and  applicable  they  may  be.  It  is  not  every  man  in  the  audi- 
ence who  is  capable  of  appreciating  them.  Sometimes,  like 
Brother  Honaker,  he  hangs  on  what  he  conceives  to  be  the 
magnitude  of  the  story  and  fails  utterly  to  follow  you  in  the 
legitimate  use  you  desire  to  make  of  it. 

This  was  a  profitable  year  to  me;  the  most  profitable  thus 
far  in  my  ministry.  I  acquired  a  studious  habit.  I  had  it  to 
do.  I  learned  to  systematize  my  time  and  to  husband  my  re- 
sources. I  really  learned  how  to  make  sermons  and  revised 
and  readjusted  by  methods  of  sermonizing.  Prior  to  that  I 
had  prepared  my  sermons  according  to  no  homiletic  rule.  I 
was  busy  traveling  from  one  appointment  to  another  and  had 
but  little  time  to  devote  to  consecutive  thought. 

I  would  take  a  text,  get  the  meaning  of  it  in  my  mind, 
think  at  it  as  I  had  opportunity,  mostly  on  horseback  or  afoot, 
preach  the  result  at  some  out-of-the-way  place,  and  thus  out- 
line it;  and  then  think  it  over  again  and  at  my  next  appoint- 
ment make  some  improvement  on  it,  and  by  accretion  and  ex- 
perimentation I  would  reduce  it  to  some  sort  of  shape  and 
completeness  by  the  time  I  had  gone  my  round.  But  this  sort 
of  sermonizing  did  not  avail  me  in  the  Abingdon  Station.  It 
had  to  go,  and  in  its  place  a  real  habit  of  sermon-making  was 
substituted.     I  really  learned  how  to  make  sermons  that  year. 

While  at  Abingdon  a  pathetic  sorrow  came  to  our  little  circle. 
We  had  two  children,  the  younger  being  born  early  in  that 
year.  She  was  a  beautiful  little  baby  girl  of  only  seven  months. 
One  day  she  was  taken  ill  and  from  day  to  day  grew  worse, 
and  early  one  morning  the  angels  came  and  kissed  her  away. 
Her  little  form  was  laid  in  a  plot  of  ground  in  the  cemetery 
beside  the  dust  of  the  little  girl  of  Dr.  W.  E.  Munsey  to  await 
the  resurrection  of  the  just.  It  was  a  sad  experience,  but  it 
prepared  me  in  my  ministry  to  be  helpful  to  those  similarly 


250  The  Story  of  My  Life 

afflicted.  We  never  know  how  best  to  comfort  others  until 
our  own  hearts  have  been  crushed  and  comforted. 

I  closed  out  the  year  successfully  and  had  my  reports  all  in 
good  shape.  They  had  paid  their  assessments,  my  salary  being 
six  hundred  dollars.  Back  in  that  day  no  preacher  was  paid 
more  than  a  bare  living.  I  had  learned  to  put  my  demands 
within  the  circle  of  my  income  and  not  go  beyond  it.  So  I  was 
square  with  the  world.  Nbbody  owed  me  anything  and  I  owed 
nobody  a  penny.  Rather  we  had  lived  so  economically  that 
we  really  had  a  few  dollars  ahead. 

Talk  about  preachers  and  business ;  I  know  no  class  of  men 
who  manage  their  finances  with  such  skill  and  success  as  the 
average  Methodist  preacher.  Lawyers  and  doctors  and  busi- 
ness men  could  not  take  the  average  preacher's  salary  and 
manage  it  as  wisely  and  to  such  good  ends  as  he  does. 

I  left  Abingdon  for  conference  with  the  assurance  that  I 
would  certainly  return  the  next  year.  I  greatly  desired  to 
return.  My  work  had  been  so  pleasant,  and  in  the  main  so 
successful,  that  the  people  wanted  me  to  return  and  I  was 
anxious  to  serve  them  another  year.  I  had  been  in  the  con- 
ference four  years  and  had  moved  every  year.  True,  I  had 
been  advanced  each  year  in  the  grade  of  my  appointments,  but 
I  cared  nothing  for  things  of  that  sort.  I  wanted  the  mental 
friction  of  another  year  with  that  congregation  and  in  Professor 
Hoss'  library.  Then  my  pleasant  associations  and  the  attrac- 
tion of  that  little  new-made  grave  had  a  perceptible  pull  upon 
our  affections.  We  loved  Abingdon  and  her  cultured  and  big- 
souled  people.  So  I  only  bade  them  a  temporary  adieu,  know- 
ing that  it  would  be  but  a  week  until  I  was  back  among  them 
in  my  same  relation  as  pastor. 


Chapter  XVIII 

Four  Years  at  Church  Street, 
Knoxville 

My  next  conference  met  at  Knoxville  again.  This  time 
Bishop  H.  H.  Kavanaugh  presided.  This  was  the  first  time 
I  ever  saw  him.  He  was  one  of  the  justly  famous  men  in  the 
Church.  In  person  he  was  a  bulky  man,  large  in  girth,  big, 
round  head  covered  with  short  stiff  hair,  a  swarthy  face  with 
a  distinctly  Irish  expression.  He  looked  immense  as  he  sat 
in  the  chair  conducting  the  proceedings  of  the  body.  He  was 
then  quite  an  old  man  and  the  feebleness  of  age  was  very 
manifest  in  his  look  and  action.  He  would  occasionally  fall 
into  a  doze  seated  in  the  chair,  and  once  in  awhile  the  Secretary 
would  have  to  arouse  him  and  tell  him  the  nature  of  the 
business  pending,  particularly  when  speech-making  was  in 
progress.  He  was  really  a  superannuated  man  in  body  and 
mind,  and  in  this  day  the  General  Conference  would  retire 
him  without  hesitation. 

A  very  amusing  incident  occurred  one  day  as  the  proceed- 
ings were  in  progress.  The  name  of  Rev.  W.  S.  Jordan  was 
called,  and  he  was  in  Rev.  John  M.  McTeer's  district.  As  the 
Presiding  Elder  arose  to  represent  him  the  Bishop  began  to 
nod,  but  the  speaker  did  not  observe  it  and  said : 


252  The  Story  of  My  Life 

"Bishop,  there  is  nothing-  in  the  way  of  a  charge  against 
the  brother,  and  yet,  as  is  usual  in  his  case,  there  is  some 
slight  complaint.  Brother  Jordan  is  a  small  man  with  large 
ways.  He  puts  on  airs  and  says  and  does  things  to  which 
sensible  and  sober  people  object.  Some  of  the  brethren  have 
suggested  that  a  reprimand  from  the  Bishop  is  in  order  and 
might  cure  him  of  this  fault,  and  I  recommend  that  you  call 
him  to  the  altar  and  exhort  him  on  his  improprieties." 

The  Secretary  aroused  the  Bishop  just  in  time  for  him  to 
hear  the  closing  words  of  the  Presiding  Elder's  remarks  and 
he  only  partly  caught  the  nature  of  the  trouble.  He  gradually 
lifted  his  massive  form  from  the  chair  and  said : 

"Brethren,  let  us  come  to  the  scratch !" 

The  conference  roared  and  this  gave  the  Secretary  time  to 
hurriedly  explain  matters  to  him. 

"Well,  let  the  brother  present  himself  at  the  bar  of  the  con- 
ference and  the  chair  will  discharge  the  duty." 

Brother  Jordan  was  a  very  diminutive  man  in  size  with  a 
red  beard  and  mustache.  He  rose  back  in  the  room  and 
slowly  walked  down  the  aisle  like  a  little  boy  at  school  going 
forward  to  take  his  merited  punishment.  When  he  reached 
the  altar  and  stood  with  downcast  eyes  under  the  towering 
and  massive  form  of  the  Bishop  the  contrast  between  them 
was  so  striking  that  the  conference  again  broke  into  a  fit  of 
laughter.  The  old  Bishop  was  a  man  of  fine  humor  and  the 
ludicrous  aspect  of  the  scene  caused  him  to  stand  for  a  moment 
and  chuckle  with  suppressed  merriment.  Finally  he  assumed  a 
dignified  pose  and  proceeded : 

"My  brother,  variety  is  the  spice  of  life.  Without  it  out 
human  nature  would  be. a  very  prosy  affair.  Dead 'monotony 
is  irksome  and  the  man  who  falls  into  it  stagnates  socially  and 
religiously.    God  has  given  us  variety  because  it  adds  zest  and 


Four  Years  at  Church  Street,  Knoxville  253 

freshness  to  our  experience.  The  man  is  a  very  dull  man  who 
does  not  appreciate  variety.  But  when  your  variety  amounts 
to  impropriety  it  is  time  for  you  to  call  a  halt,  sir." 

At  that  juncture  the  conference  sent  forth  another  peal  of 
mirthfulness  and  the  old  Bishop  motioned  Brother  Jordan  to 
his  seat.  He  was  a  very  kind-hearted  old  man  and  really  did 
not  want  to  hurt  the  young  brother's  feelings,  and  I  think  he 
turned  the  whole  thing  into  a  burlesque  on  purpose. 

On  Sunday  morning  a  great  congregation  crowded  the 
church  to  hear  his  sermon,  for  he  had  a  great  reputation  as  a 
preacher.  And  notwithstanding  his  advanced  age  the  fires  of 
a  brilliant  genius  were  still  slumbering  in  his  deep  nature. 
All  that  was  necessary  was  for  a  great  occasion  to  stir  him 
into  action,  and  a  large  audience  always  seemed  to  inspire  him. 
Such  was  the  case  that  morning. 

At  first  he  moved  slowly  and  his  mind  plodded  along  in  a 
sort  of  prosaic  manner.  He  was  halting  and  hesitating  like 
a  man  feeling  his  way  in  order  to  make  sure  of  a  good  be- 
ginning. In  other  words,  the  trail  seemed  cold  and  he  was 
cautiously  scenting  his  game.  But  he  gradually  warmed  up 
to  his  subject  and  he  moved  triumphantly  into  the  heart  of  his 
theme.  His  eyes  lost  their  dullness,  his  ponderous  form  be- 
came easy  in  its  movements,  his  thought  kindled  into  an  in- 
extinguishable blaze,  his  voice  articulated  like  deep-toned  thun- 
der, and  all  his  gifts  as  a  natural-born  orator  came  into  bril- 
liant play.  ,  , 

He  had  large  imaginative  faculties,  not  those  of  the  poet, 
but  the  sublime  kind,  gorgeous  and  climacteric.  I  was  re- 
minded of  the  rush  of  the  mountain  torrent  pouring  wildly  over 
the  precipice  down  into  abysmal  caverns,  sending  back  its 
distant  echoes  like  the  resounding  stroke  of  some  colossal 
Titan ;  or,  to  change  the  figure,  it  made  one  think  of  the  storm- 


254  The  Story  of  My  Life 

god  aroused  from  the  slumbers  and  moving  with  thunderpeal 
through  the  heavens  and  swooping  in  awful  grandeur  upon 
the  hills  and  the  valleys,  jarring  you  with  frightful  concussions 
and  blinding  you  with  sudden  flashes  of  splendor. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  he  held  his  audience  at  will  and  they 
followed  every  word  he  uttered  with  breathless  interest,  and 
when  he  reached  his  conclusion  and  his  voice  died  away  into 
silence  there  was  a  sigh  of  relaxation.  The  sermon,  plus  the 
man,  was  something  wonderful  and  inspiring.  It  was  not 
scholarly  or  learned,  but  it  was  deep  and  broad  in  its  thought- 
fulness  ;  its  diction  was  not  of  the  soft  and  culture  type,  but 
it  was  rugged  and  suited  to  the  personality  of  the  man ;  his 
subject-matter  was  not  bookish  or  specially  literary,  but  it 
was  aflame  with  intelligence  and  royal  in  the  sweep  of  its 
conception. 

The  Bishop  was  well  read  and  his  familiarity  with  the  doc- 
trines and  polity  of  the  Church  was  extraordinary ;  and  he  was 
sufficiently  acquainted  with  general  literature  to  give  to  his 
pulpit  ministrations  the  stamp  of  a  man  of  education.  He  was 
not  a  good  parliamentarian,  but  as  a  preacher  in  the  open 
field  of  genius  and  oratory  he  was  the  greatest  of  his  day  and 
generation.  That  was  the  first  and  the  last  time  I  was  ever 
privileged  to  hear  him,  but  he  left  such  an  impression  upon 
me  that  he  stands  out  before  me  to-day  as  one  of  the  greatest 
-pulpit  speakers  in  American  Methodism. 

When  the  time  came  for  the  reading  of  the  appointments  I 
was  as  placid  as  a  May  morning.  I  knew  where  I  was  going 
and  was  only  waiting  to  hear  the  announcement  in  order  to 
take  the  train  and  return  to  my  Abingdon  charge.  But  I  was 
startled  out  of  my  wits  when  the  old  Bishop  read: 

"Church  Street  Station,  George  C.  Rankin." 

I  never  heard  the  announcement  of  another  place  or  name. 


Four  Years  at  Church  Street,  Knoxville  255 

It  knocked  me  clear  out  of  the  proceedings.  I  came  to  myself, 
however,  when  a  lady  just  behind  said : 

"Well,  I  do  not  know  who  that  man  Rankin  is,  but  one  thing 
certain,  I  do  not  intend  to  love  him  or  have  anything  to  do 
with  him.  They  had  no  business  to  send  him  here  to  take 
Brother  Burnett's  place." 

And  she  snubbed  like  a  crying  child.  Brother  J.  S.  Burnett 
had  just  finished  his  third  year  at  that  charge,  and  many  of 
them  expected  him  back ;  and  this  good  woman  was  one  of 
them.  I  never  have  any  fear,  however,  of  the  people  who 
love  my  predecessor ;  but  I  always  fear  the  soreheads  that  have 
given  him  trouble.  If  they  loved  him  I  have  always  found 
that  they  soon  learned  to  love  me. 

Church  Street  Church  was  the  first  appointment  in  the  con- 
ference and  it  had  been  served  by  its  leading  preachers.  Some 
years  before  that  Rev.  E.  E.  Hoss  was  its  popular  pastor. 
He  had  gone  from  it  to  the  Pacific  Coast.  After  him  Dr. 
W.  G.  E.  Cunnyngham  had  filled  the  appointment  with  great 
acceptability,  and  then  Dr.  J.  S.  Burnett. 

I  was  less  than  thirty  years  of  age  and  had  only  been  in 
the  conference  four  years.  Beside  that,  the  other  leading  con- 
gregations were  supplied  with  the  strongest  men  in  their  de- 
nominations. The  First  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  near 
me,  had  Rev.  N.  G.  Taylor,  D.  D.,  father  of  Governor  Bob 
Taylor,  as  its  pastor.  He  was  a  man  of  age  and  experience 
and  one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  East  Tennessee's  orators.  In 
early  life  he  had  been  a  distinguished  lawyer  and  a  very 
popular  politician.  He  had  served  a  term  or  two  in  Congress. 
Dr.  James  Parks,  the  nestor  of  the  Presbyterian  pulpit,  was 
at  the  First  Presbyterian  Church ;  Dr.  Sturgis,  a  very  popular 
pastor,  was  at  the  Second  Presbyterian  Church ;  and  Dr.  C.  H. 
Strickland,  one  of  the  eminent  ministers  of  his  denomination, 


256  The  Story  of  My  Life 

was  at  the  First  Baptist  Church.  These  are  a  few  of  the 
several  high-class  men  whose  churches  were  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  Church  Street  Church. 

The  congregation  was  an  old  and  cultured  one,  made  up  of 
many  of  the  leading  citizens  of  that  city  of  churches  and 
schools.  A  large  number  of  professional  men,  doctors  and 
lawyers  and  schoolmen  were  my  parishioners.  The  University 
of  Tennessee  was  located  there,  and  it  was  manned  by  teachers 
of  great  ability.  The  thought  appalled  me  that  I  was  to  be 
their  pastor. 

I  had  only  had  one  station,  and  had  no  experience  in  city 
life  and  customs.  I  was  a  man  of  the  country,  yet  I  was 
suddenly  dropped  down  in  that  leading  city  Church.  That  was 
certainly  one  time  when  I  was  sent  to  an  appointment  against 
my  will,  and  one  concerning  which  I  had  never  had  a  dream. 
So  far  as  I  was  concerned  it  was  purely  Providential.  I  had  a 
feeling  of  helplessness,  and  was  never  driven  with  such  a  deep 
sense  of  need  into  the  presence  of  God.  If  a  man  ever  required 
divine  assistance  I  was  the  man  and  that  was  the  time.  I  felt 
that  I  was  adapted  to  Abingdon  and  had  my  heart  bent  on 
returning  to  it  and  its  people,  but  my  plans  were  sadly  dis- 
rupted. But  why  should  a  Methodist  preacher  ever  have  plans 
about  an  appointment? 

The  very  next  Sunday  I  was  on  the  ground  and  in  the  pulpit, 
and  the  very  first  pass  out  of  the  box  I  produced  a  very  un- 
favorable impression.  A  full  house  greeted  me  and  I  presume 
had  some  sort  of  expectation,  as  not  one  of  them  had  ever 
heard  me  try  to  preach.  I  stood  before  them  with  an  open 
manuscript  and  read  every  word  of  it  without  taking  my  eyes 
off  of  it,  or  without  moving  my  hands  except  to  turn  the  leaves 
of  each  page  as  I  finished  it.  It  gave  them  a  shock,  for  they 
wanted  a  preacher,  not  a  manuscript  reader. 


Four  Years  at  Church  Street,  Knoxville  2§7 

Within  the  next  half  hour  I  received  more  advice  and  sug- 
gestion than  any  young  preacher  of  my  age  in  Tennessee. 
Well,  I  was  satisfied  with  the  result.  I  had  taken  the  curiosity 
out  of  them,  and  the  next  Sunday  they  expressed  themselves 
delighted.  I  started  them  down  at  the  bottom  and  it  was  not 
much  trouble  after  that  to  gradually  lift  them  back  to  a  sane 
altitude.  I  plunged  into  my  pastoral  work  every  afternoon 
and  literally  visited  "from  house  to  house",  but  my  forenoons 
I  devoted  to  some  of  the  closest  application  of  my  life.  It  was 
a  matter  of  necessity  in  order  to  meet  the  demands  upon  me 
and  compete  with  those  other  pulpits. 

At  one  of  my  night  services  not  long  after  my  start  in  the 
city  I  delivered  a  terrific  sermon  on  the  liquor  traffic,  and  there 
happened  to  be  present  on  the  occasion  a  leading  wholesale 
dealer  and  from  the  word  go  the  "trade"  had  it  in  for  me.  I 
took  no  back  track,  rather  I  lost  no  opportunity  to  set  the 
saloons  on  fire.  And  I  thank  God  that  I  have  lived  to  see  the 
day  when  every  saloon  in  Knoxville  has  been  driven  from  the 
confines  of  the  State. 

My  work  was  not  lost ;  it  helped  to  introduce  the  force  that 
in  the  end  destroyed  them.  It  was  long  after  my  day  there 
that  the  end  came,  but  it  came  with  the  terror  of  the  judgment. 
No  wonder,  for  the  measure  of  its  iniquity  was  full.  I  saw 
some  of  the  awfulest  of  its  tragedies  within  the  limits  of  my 
own  congregation  that  term  of  service. 

A  young  man,  the  son  of  one  of  my  best  mothers,  was  ad- 
dicted to  drink  and  one  night  he  was  murdered  on  the  street 
by  another  drinker.  It  was  a  sad  day  in  that  home  when  I 
attended  that  funeral.  Later  on  one  of  my  young  men  and 
the  son  of  one  of  my  University  professor  members,  and  he 
himself  a  member  of  my  Church,  was  found  in  his  room  dead 
me  morning  with  a  clinched  pistol  in  his  hand  and  a  bulk* 


258  The  Story  of  My  Life 

through  his  brain.  Drink  caused  the  tragedy.  It  was  grief  in 
that  home  when  I  tried  to  speak  words  of  comfort.  On  the 
following  Sunday  when  I  made  that  young  man's  life  the  sub- 
ject of  a  thrilling  sermon  I  awoke  the  next  morning  to  find 
myself  notorious  as  a  preacher. 

On  another  occasion  a  good  lady  member  of  my  Church  had 
a  drunken  son  and  one  evening  he  came  in  crazed  from  the 
saloon.  She  reproved  him  and  he  struck  her  with  a  stick, 
fractured  her  skull  and  she  died  almost  instantly.  When  I 
called  to  see  him  at  the  jail  the  next  morning  his  anguish  of 
heart  was  something  awful. 

Just  before  my  pastorate  ended  a  prominent  gentleman  and 
his  son,  husband  and  son  of  one  of  my  prominent  families, 
became  involved  in  a  difficulty  with  a  leading  man  on  the  street 
and  all  three  of  them  died  with  their  boots  on  inside  of  five 
minutes.  Liquor  inspired  the  trouble.  I  conducted  the  funeral 
services  and  saw  one  grave  swallow  up  both  of  them. 

Can  any  one  censure  me  for  my  opposition,  lifelong  in  its 
sweep,  to  the  licensed  liquor  traffic? 

Knoxville  was  the  old  home  of  the  Brownlows.  W.  G. 
Brownlow,  the  man  who  made  the  name  famous  in  all  that 
section  and  throughout  the  Nation,  was  dead  when  I  began 
my  ministry  there,  but  I  had  known  him  years  before  that 
time.  His  widow  and  two  sons  were  living  and  I  used  to  visit 
them.  The  Brownlows  were  Methodists.  He  was  a  member 
of  the  Holston  Conference  for  some  years  once,  but  got  into 
journalism  and  politics  and  retired  from  the  regular  work. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  his  day.  He  was 
a  bold,  daring  and  spectacular  figure  and  was  never  so  well 
pleased  as  when  pulling  off  some  sensational  stunt  in  Church 
or  State.     He  never  had  connection  with  the  prosaic  or  the 


Four  Years  at  Church  Street,  Knoxville  259 

monotonous.  When  in  the  ministry  he  made  it  hot  for  the 
Presbyterians  and  the  Baptists  in  all  that  country.  His  con- 
troversies with  Rev.  J.  R.  Graves  and  with  Rev.  Frederick 
Ross  of  the  Baptist  and  the  Presbyterian  Churches  will  never 
be  forgotten  in  East  Tennessee.  He  put  the  sum  and  sub- 
stance of  those  controversies  in  book  form,  known  as  "The 
Iron  Wheel  Examined",  and  the  book,  now  obsolete  except 
When  found  in  a  few  old  libraries,  would  not  be  allowed  to 
go  through  the  United  States  mails  under  our  present  postal 
regulation.  There  never  was  such  a  piece  of  literature  like  it 
put  in  print,  but  it  settled  the  contest  for  Methodism  in  East 
Tennessee.  He  was  the  bitterest  and  most  abusive  man  who 
ever  put  pen  to  paper,  or  who  ever  mounted  a  public  rostrum. 

He  was  a  Whig  in  politics  and  he  was  even  more  bitter  in 
politics  than  in  religious  contests.  He  and  Andy  Johnson 
used  to  have  terrific  meetings  on  the  stump,  and  the  like  of 
it  was  never  heard  in  that  country.  He  and  Landon  C.  Haynes, 
the  most  eloquent  orator  in  that  mountain  country,  once  met 
in  joint  discussion  and  the  result  was  a  panic.  They  came 
together  in  deadly  personal  encounter,  and  Brownlow  shot 
Haynes  in  the  hip  and  he  limped  the  rest  of  his  life. 

Old  ex-Governor  Fayette  McMullin  of  Virginia  once  told 
me  of  a  personal  difficulty  between  himself  and  Brownlow. 
He  said  he  dropped  down  into  Tennessee  at  the  invitation  of 
James  K.  Polk  to  speak  at  a  barbecue  near  Rogersville.  and 
Brownlow  was  present  and  he  had  a  pleasant  chat  with  him. 
After  he  went  home  some  one  sent  him  a  marked  copy  of 
Brownlow's  Whig,  and  in  his  write-up  of  the  occasion  he  said 
McMullin  carried  his  brand  on  his  right  hand.  That  if  you 
would  examine  his  hand  you  would  find  his  thumb  and  two 
forefingers  bitten  off,  and  that  this  had  occurred  back  in  his 
life  when  he  drove  wagons  from  Lynchburg  to  Bristol;  that 


260  The  Story  of  My  Life 

one  night  he  was  stealing  corn  through  the  crack  of  a  crib 
and  got  his  hand  caught  in  a  steel  trap. 

Well,  that  was  the  common  report  about  the  old  man,  but 
Brownlow's  write-up  about  it  made  him  furious.  He  went 
back  to  Tennessee  to  a  campmeeting  to  settle  with  Brownlow ; 
met  him  one  Sunday  morning  just  outside  of  the  gate  and 
felled  him  with  a  cane,  but  when  Brownlow  arose  he  had  his 
pistol  in  his  hand  and  drew  a  bead  on  McMullin.  The  old 
fellow  turned  and  fled,  but  the  pistol  missed  fire  and  that  is 
all  that  saved  his  life. 

Brownlow  became  Military  Governor  of  Tennessee  at  the 
close  of  the  Civil  War,  and  he  was  a  little  severe  on  returning 
ex-Confederate  soldiers.  Some  of  them  he  handled  without 
gloves,  and  upon  the  heads  of  others  he  hung  heavy  penalties, 
if  eventually  they  could  be  apprehended. 

One  day  while  seated  in  his  office  the  cards  of  Dr.  John  B. 
McFerrin  and  Dr.  A.  L.  P.  Green  were  presented  to  him  by 
his  porter.  He  looked  at  the  cards  and  directed  the  porter  to 
escort  them  in.  As  they  approached  he  arose  and  extended 
his  hand  and  said:  "While  the  lamp  holds  out  to  burn  the 
worst  of  sinners  may  return." 

They  had  refugeed  from  Tennessee  when  the  Confederate 
forces  evacuated  Nashville,  and  this  was  the  occasion  of  their 
first  appearance  since  that  eventful  day.  Brownlow  knew  them 
and  personally  liked  them  and  treated  them  with  every  con' 
sideration.  So  his  humor  expressed  itself  along  with  his  con" 
viction  in  the  above  quotation.  I  have  often  heard  Dr.  Mc- 
Ferrin speak  of  that  meeting  with  the  old  Military  Governor 
of  Tennessee. 

The  last  time  I  ever  saw  Brownlow  was  toward  the  close 
of  his  term  in  the  United  States  Senate.  He  was  then  old, 
Voken  and  very  much  shattered  in  health.     He  had  had  * 


GOV.  W.  G.  BROWNLOW 

THE    FAMOUS    EAST    TENNESSEAN 


Four  Years  (H  Church  Street,  Knoxville  261 

stroke  of  paralysis  and  it  had  left  him  in  a  palsied  condition. 
I  was  in  Southwest  Virginia  and  Rev.  G.  W.  Miles,  an  erst- 
while friend  of  Brownlow,  was  my  Presiding  Elder.  It  was 
telegraphed  one  day  along  the  route  that  Brownlow  was  on 
the  train  bound  for  Washington  and  his  old  friends  dropped 
down  to  the  depot  to  shake  hands  with  him.  In  those  days  he 
was  in  the  Northern  Methodist  Church  and  such  had  been  his 
bitterness  that  not  many  of  the  Southern  Methodist  ministers 
had  any  use  for  him.  But  Brother  Miles  and  myself  learned 
of  his  presence  on  the  approaching  train  and  we  went  down 
to  meet  him. 

As  the  train  slowed  up  we  boarded  the  sleeper  and  found 
him  lying  in  a  berth  looking  like  a  veritable  mummy  skeleton. 
As  we  approached  him  he  lifted  himself  up  on  one  elbow  and 
Brother  Miles  grasped  his  hand  and  said :  "How  are  you, 
Billy ;  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  looking  so  well."  He  was 
shaking  all  over  and  in  a  highly  nervous  state,  but  his  rugged 
humor  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  for  he  smiled  and  said : 
"You  are  the  first  Southern  Methodist  devil  who  has  told  me 
the  truth  since  I  left  Knoxville.  Several  have  told  me  to-day 
that  they  were  sorry  to  see  me  looking  so  feeble,  but  I  knew 
they  were  lying." 

He  presented  a  pitiable  spectacle.  His  long  and  lank  form 
was  emaciated,  his  complexion  was  very  dark  and  muddy,  his 
eyes  black  and  deeply  sunken  in  his  head,  his  nose  was  promi- 
nent, his  cavernous  mouth  occupied  the  lower  part  of  his  long 
thin  face,  and  his  large  ears  stood  out  prominently  from  the 
sides  of  his  angularly-shaped  head.  He  looked  uncanny  and 
unearthly. 

He  did  not  live  a  great  while  after  that,  and  when  he  died 
at  his  old  home  in  Knoxville  his  funeral  was  the  most  largely 
attended  of  any  that  ever  occurred  in  that  city  of  prominent 


262  The  Story  of  My  Life 

men.  Despite  his  bitterness  of  speech  and  pen  and  his  many 
encounters  with  those  with  whom  he  differed,  and  his  severity 
toward  many  of  his  fellow-citizens  just  after  the  war,  he  was 
in  a  general  way  popular  among  those  where  he  lived.  Under- 
neath his  rugged  and  boisterous  exterior  he  really  had  a  tender 
heart  when  at  his  best  and  did  many  acts  of  kindness  to  his 
fellowman.  But  he  was  a  bundle  of  contradictions  and  his 
whole  life  was  one  of  good  and  bad  impulses  alternately  mixed. 
His  wife  was  one  of  the  loveliest  old  ladies  I  ever  met  and 
she  was  held  in  high  esteem  by  a  wide  circle  of  friends. 

For  four  years  in  succession  I  was  sent  to  Church  Street 
Church  until  I  served  out  my  quadrennium.  It  was  a  severe 
term  of  service,  but  one  of  great  value  to  me.  During  the 
time  I  took  a  sort  of  a  postgraduate  course  in  the  literary 
department  of  the  State  University  in  connection  with  my 
duties  as  pastor  and  preacher. 

Professor  Joiner,  a  distinguished  man  in  letters,  rendered 
me  wonderful  assistance  in  this  department  of  training.  He 
was  a  master  in  the  realm  of  English  Literature  and  I  lived 
next  door  to  him  and  had  the  benefit  of  many  of  his  evenings. 
He  took  great  interest  in  me  and  I  owe  much  to  his  personal 
influence  and  supervision  as  a  teacher  in  the  sphere  of  polite 
learning. 

The  duties  of  that  pulpit  put  great  pressure  upon  me,  but 
it  sprung  me  to  my  utmost.  I  did  a  vast  amount  of  whole- 
some reading  and  systematic  studying.  I  had  the  confidence 
and  co-operation  of  my  people  and  they  gave  me  the  most 
cordial  support.  They  were  an  excellent  congregation,  and 
among  them  were  some  of  the  noblest  families  in  the  city. 
The  Boyds,  the  McClungs,  the  Crawfords,  the  Lyons,  the 
Aults,  the  Van  Gilders,  the  McClelands,  the  Gaults,  the  Wood- 
wards, the  Luttrells,  and  others  too  numerous  to  mention,  gave 


Four  Years  at  Church  Street,  Knoxville  263 

to  me  as  fine  a  body  of  people  as  any  man  ever  preached  to. 

Sam  Crawford,  as  we  called  him,  was  Commandant  in  the 
University  and  a  man  of  royal  nature.  Henry  Ault,  sedate  and 
devoted,  was  as  true  as  the  needle  to  the  poles  in  his  devotion 
to  the  Church.  Matt  McClung,  big  of  body  and  kind  of  heart, 
was  a  strong  support.  Sam  Luttrell,  quiet  but  always  at  his 
post  of  duty.  Will  Lyons,  as  clean  as  a  woman  and  as  trans- 
parent as  sunshine.  Matt  McCleland,  jolly  and  sincere  in 
word  and  deed.  Dr.  John  M.  Boyd,  brainy,  wise  and  attentive. 
Leon  Jourlmon,  critical,  fastidious,  but  always  dependable. 
Colonel  J.  W.  Gault,  stately,  majestic  and  amiable.  But  why 
try  to  call  the  roll  of  such  a  band?  Their  names  would  run 
into  the  hundreds.  Some  of  them  long  ago  crossed  over  the 
river,  but  they  live  in  my  affections  and  memory  as  among  the 
choicest  spirits  to  whom  I  have  ever  ministered.  But  if  the 
men  so  impressed  me  with  their  devotion  and  kindness,  what 
might  I  not  say  for  the  good  women  who  stood  by  me  in  that 
trying  situation?  Time  would  fail  me  to  sketch  them  in  their 
tenderness  and  fidelity  to  me  and  my  family. 

Grand  old  Church  Street  Church !  Will  I  ever  forget  her 
loyalty  and  her  unfailing  support?  Never ;  no,  never !  So  un- 
pretentious, so  devoted  to  the  history  and  tradition  of  the  best 
type  of  Methodism,  generous  in  her  liberality,  sparing  in  her 
criticisms,  indulgent  in  her  tolerance  and  forbearance,  old- 
fashioned  in  her  views  and  experience  in  matters  religious, 
without  affectation,  appreciative  of  the  old  story  of  the  Cross, 
responsive  to  every  claim,  intolerant  only  of  innovations  and 
untried  experiments,  always  jealous  of  the  character  of  her  in- 
stitutions, anxious  to  see  Zion  travail  in  the  spiritual  birth  of 
her  sons  and  daughters,  and  ever  hopeful  of  the  ultimate  tri- 
umphs of  the  Kingdom  of  Jesus  Christ  throughout  the  world. 
I  have  never  served  a  better  people  and  have  never  had  warmer 


2^4  The  Story  of  My  Life 

friends  in  all  the  circle  of  my  wide  associations.  It  was  with 
genuine  sorrow  that  the  time  limit  enforced  the  severance  of 
my  delightful  relation  to  them.  For  the  four  years  I  gave 
them  my  constant  prayer,  the  unstinted  fruits  of  my  best  in- 
tellectual endeavor  and  the  investment  of  the  sum  total  of 
my  spiritual  capabilities ;  and  the  tax  had  been  so  severe  that 
my  health  was  considerably  impaired  and  my  physical  vitality 
greatly  reduced.  My  nerve-force  was  practically  exhausted. 
It  was  well  enough  for  me  that  the  time  limit  relieved  me 
of  the  strain. 

The  night  before  I  left  for  conference  at  the  close  of  my 
last  year  the  good  women  presented  my  wife  with  a  costly 
set  of  beautiful  china,  and  the  Board  of  Stewards  gave  to  me 
a  handsome  gold  watch  with  the  inscription  on  the  back  case: 
"A  parting  gift  to  Rev.  G.  C.  Rankin  from  Church  Street 
Church,  November  6,  1882."  That  was  thirty  years  ago  and 
that  watch,  the  toUen  of  their  love,  having  worn  out  one  set 
of  works  and  supplied  with  a  new  one,  is  hanging  near  my 
heart  to-day  to  remind  me  of  the  good  friends  of  the  years 
long  gone. 

I  have  said  nothing  in  this  chapter  about  the  three  inter- 
vening conference  sessions  because  there  was  nothing  of  special 
note  in  their  proceedings,  and  the  Bishops  who  presided  over 
them  were  men  whom  I  have  already  described  in  former 
chapters.  It  so  happened  that  the  Holston  Conference  fell 
to  the  lot  of  the  same  presiding  officers  oftener  than  any  con- 
ference to  which  I  have  ever  belonged.  This  gave  me  a  fine 
opportunity  to  see  much  of  Bishops  Pierce,  McTyeire,  Dog- 
gett  and  Wightman.  They  belonged  to  the  old  panel  and 
they  were  giants  in  those  days.  Their  coming  always  excited 
interest  and  their  work  produced  deep  impressions. 

As  masters  of  parliamentary  law  and  as  great  pulpit  and 


Pour  Years  at  Church  Street,  Knoxville  265 

platform  men  they  stood  out  in  bold  relief  at  a  time  when  the 
Church  needed  a  few  men  of  transcendent  strength  and  promi- 
nence. The  impress  of  their  genius  was  deeply  graven  in  the 
constitution,  the  laws  and  the  polity  of  our  reorganized  South- 
ern Methodism.  They  rendered  a  service  only  possible  to  men 
of  masterful  intellects  and  far-reaching  statesmanship. 

Yes,  that  old  panel  of  Bishops  were  Providential  men,  raised 
up  and  called  forth  by  the  age  and  times  in  which  they  lived, 
and  they  wrought  their  mighty  works  in  the  interest  of  our 
Zion. 


Chapter  XIX 

Four  Eventful  Years  ir 
Chattanooga 

At  the  close  of  my  last  year  in  Knoxville  I  attended  confer- 
ence at  Asheville.  Western  North  Carolina  was  still  within 
the  bounds  of  Holston.  Bishop  A.  W.  Wilson,  one  of  the  new 
Bishops,  presided.  He  was  not  new  to  me,  for  I  had  known 
him  well  as  Missionary  Secretary.  He  had  often  been  through 
our  conference  territory  in  behalf  of  missions  and  his  fame 
was  spread  abroad  among-  us  as  a  great  preacher  and  platform 
speaker. 

He  is  so  well  known  to  my  readers  that  it  is  almost  super- 
fluous for  me  to  sketch  him  as  a  preacher  and  a  presiding 
officer.  For  years  he  has  been,  by  common  consent,  recognized 
as  one  of  the  greatest  living  preachers  in  Episcopal  Methodism. 
He  has  intellectual  faculties  of  the  highest  order,  and  to  these 
he  has  given  the  most  thorough  training.  In  the  range  of  his 
studies  he  has  moved  over  the  domain  of  history,  philosophy, 
theology  and  general  literature.  There  is  scarcely  any  limit 
to  his  knowledge  of  men  and  of  letters. 

For  a  number  of  years  he  practiced  law  and  was  a  distin- 
guished lawyer  at  the  Baltimore  bar.  He  is  as  familiar  with 
the  dead  languages  almost  as  he  is  with  the  English,  and  in 
Church  law  he  is  an  acknowledged  master.  His  mind  moves 
along  great  highways  of  thought,  and  there  is  a  majesty  and 
a  grandeur  about  his  style  as  a  preacher  that  brings  his  audi- 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  267 

ences  into  awe  and  reverence  when  he  stands  in  the  pulpit. 
iThere  is  no  effort  at  oratorical  display  when  he  speaks ;  his 
manner  is  not  very  attractive,  his  voice  is  neither  sweet  nor 
mellow,  and  his  manner  of  speech  is  deliberate  and  measured. 
He  rarely  ever  makes  use  of  an  illustration,  and  he  eschews 
tropes  and  similes.  He  deals  in  profound  thought,  and  his 
style  and  language  are  in  keeping  with  his  greatness  of  mind 
as  a  man  and  a  public  speaker. 

Bishop  Wilson  has  wonderful  resourcefulness.  I  have  heard 
him  scores  of  times,  and  in  no  instance  have  I  ever  heard  him 
repeat  himself.  He  is  always  original  and  fresh  in  his  pulpit 
messages  to  the  people.  And  at  times  he  is  superlatively 
eloquent. 

As  a  presiding  officer  Bishop  Wilson  is  par  excellence.  He 
is  a  born  and  a  trained  parliamentarian.  He  is  as  much  at 
home  in  the  chair  presiding  over  a  deliberative  body  as  he  is 
in  the  private  circle  in  friendly  converse.  His  rulings  are  ac- 
cepted as  final  and  authoritative.  In  his  dealings  with  the 
Cabinet  he  follows  the  old  lines  and  gives  large  latitude  to  his 
counselors  and  advisers.  He  never  deals  in  favoritisms,  creates 
no  bickerings  and  leaves  no  afterclaps  when  the  conference 
session  adjourns  and  he  takes  his  departure. 

Personally  he  is  not  what  you  could  call  a  popular  man. 
He  is  too  sincere,  too  positive  and  outspoken  to  put  men  gen- 
erally on  familiar  terms  with  him.  He  is  rather  distant  and 
cool  in  his  relations  to  men  generally.  But  when  once  you  get 
close  to  him  and  come  into  touch  with  his  deeper  nature,  he  is 
kind,  considerate  and  brotherly.  But  on  the  surface  and  in 
casual  contact  with  him  these  exquisite  traits  and  qualities  do 
not  manifest  themselves. 

At  the  close  of  this  Asheville  Conference  I  was  stationed 
at  Asheville,  the  very  place  suited  to  my  run-down  condition. 


268  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Its  altitude,  its  healthful  breezes,  its  freedom  from  malaria,  its 
romantic  scenery,  its  crystal  water,  all  combine  to  make  it  one 
of  the  health  resorts  of  America.  For  this  reason  especially 
I  was  delighted  to  find  myself  stationed  there.  And  those  hos- 
pitable people  suited  me  also.  But  I  shall  say  nothing  in  this 
connection  about  my  term  of  service  at  Asheville,  for  I  did 
not  remain  but  that  year,  and  after  an  interval  of  four  years 
I  was  returned  to  finish  out  my  quadrennium.  In  a  later 
chapter  I  will  give  some  account  of  my  Asheville  experience. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  I  attended  conference  at  Chatta- 
nooga with  no  sort  of  thought  but  that  I  would  return  to  my 
charge  of  one  year.  The  people  desired  it  and  my  Presiding 
Elder  had  nothing  else  in  view.  Bishop  McTyeire  was  the 
presiding  officer.  The  conference  proceedings  were  drifting 
along  smoothly.  Saturday  the  appointments  for  Sunday  were 
announced  and  I  was  slated  to  preach  the  sermon  at  the  ordi- 
nation of  Elders  Sunday  night.  I  attached  no  sort  of  signifi- 
cance to  that  arrangement.  Sunday  morning  the  Bishop 
preached  one  of  his  deep  and  severely  thoughtful  sermons. 
It  was  instructive,  but  heavy  and  difficult  to  appropriate.  But 
it  was  a  masterful  piece  of  exposition. 

In  the  afternoon  I  walked  out  for  an  airing  and  met  one  of 
that  class  of  brethren  who  make  it  their  business  to  nose  into 
appointments  in  advance  of  their  announcement  and  who  are 
always  busy  finding  out  where  this  man  and  that  man  and  the 
other  man  are  going  to  be  sent,  and  who  seem  to  take  great 
delight  in  reading  the  mind  of  the  Bishop  concerning  all  such 
matters.  You  find  them  in  every  conference.  They  are  busy- 
bodies,  known  as  conference  gossips,  and  during  the  session 
they  are  plucking  you  by  the  sleeve  to  take  you  to  one  side  in 
order  to  whisper  a  piece  of  newly-discovered  news  into  your 
ear. 


MISS  HATTIE  J.  RANKIN 

TRAINED    CHURCH    WORKER 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  269 

Well,  this  brother  asked  me  what  I  knew.  I  knew  nothing 
and  told  him  so.  "Have  you  not  heard  the  latest?"  he  said. 
I  was  frank  to  tell  him  that  I  had  heard  nothing  at  all.  Then 
he  volunteered  to  give  me  a  storehouse  of  information  about 
what  was  going  on  in  the  Cabinet ;  and  among  other  things  he 
said  that  I  was  slated  for  Market  Street  Church,  Chattanooga ; 
and  that  was  the  explanation  of  my  appointment  to  preach 
the  ordination  sermon  that  night.  The  people  wanted  a  chance 
to  hear  me  before  the  thing  was  sealed. 

Well,  of  course  that  was  news  to  me,  and  it  was  very  inter- 
esting news.  And  the  thing  about  it  was  that  this  brother 
usually  managed  to  find  out  with  some  degree  of  accuracy 
about  such  matters.  Just  how  he  did  it  I  could  not  tell,  but 
he  would  pick  up  a  little  gossip  here  and  a  little  more  there, 
put  things  together  and  get  to  a  plausible  conclusion.  In  this 
way  he  and  his  sort  in  every  conference  keep  themselves  very 
well  posted  about  the  Cabinet  work. 

Another  thing  that  gave  plausibility  to  the  piece  of  news 
concerning  myself  was  that  I  knew  he  was  anxious  himself  to 
go  to  Market  Street,  for  he  had  told  me  so  some  days  before ; 
and  on  this  interesting  occasion  he  remarked  to  me  that  if  I 
did  not  want  to  be  pulled  up  from  Asheville  and  sent  to  Chat- 
tanooga I  had  better  get  busy.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  did  not 
want  to  be  pulled  up  and  moved,  more  especially  on  account 
of  my  health  than  otherwise. 

So  I  did  get  busy,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  called 
on  Bishop  McTyeire,  a  hazardous  thing  for  a  young  man  to  do. 
As  I  entered  his  private  room  I  met  a  committee  of  the  Official 
Board  of  Market  Street  Church  coming  out  and  two  or  three 
of  them  spoke  very  cordially  to  me,  something  they  had  not 
done  before.  This  within  itself  was  suspicious.  Bishop  Mc- 
Tyeire, though  an  apparently  stern  man,  was  easily  approached. 


270  The  Story  of  My  Life 

No  one  rarely  ever  changed  his  mind  when  once  it  was 
made  up ;  nevertheless  he  would  receive  you  and  listen  to  what 
you  had  to  say  with  patience.  I  did  not  amble,  but  stated 
exactly  to  him  what  I  had  heard  and  then  proceeded  to  give 
to  him  my  reasons  why  I  was  anxious  to  return  to  Asheville. 
I  had  laid  in  my  winter's  wood,  had  my  feed  provided  for 
my  horse  and  cow,  and  my  health  was  improving.  To  come 
to  that  malarious  location  in  my  rundown  condition  and  take 
charge  of  that  worse  rundown  Church  would  finish  me,  and 
he  had  just  as  well  sign  my  death  warrant  as  to  send  me  to 
Chattanooga. 

These  things  were  not  only  true  as  I  believed  them,  but  I 
could  speak  the  more  plainly  about  the  change  since  it  was  a 
considerable  promotion  to  come  from  Asheville,  the  little  moun- 
tain town,  to  Chattanooga,  the  metropolis  of  the  conference. 
Had  I  been  contending  for  something  better  than  I  had  it 
would  have  been  different.  But  I  was  contending  for  the 
small  appointment  when  probably  a  much  more  influential  one 
was  in  contemplation  for  me. 

Bishop  McTyeire  listened  to  me  kindly  and  I  thought  I  was 
making  an  impression  on  him  until  he  opened  his  sleepy- 
looking  eyes  and  said: 

"How  is  my  old  friend  Brother  Sleuder  getting  on  these 
times  at  Asheville?" 

I  told  him  that  ordinarily  I  would  not  mind  discussing 
Brother  Sleuder  with  him,  but  under  the  circumstances  I 
was  not  interested  in  his  case  in  the  slightest  degree;  that 
I  had  another  object  in  view  in  seeking  that  talk  with  him. 
He  caught  the  point  and  smiled,  and  then  he  opened  his 
great  mouth  and  said  something: 

"It  is  well  enough  to  have  your  wood  laid  by  for  winter, 
and  to  have  your  cow  and  horse  feed  provided.     But  these 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  2jl 

comforts  are  only  a  few  of  the  incidents  in  the  life  of  an 
itinerant.  These  can  be  disposed  of  to  your  successor.  It  is 
also  well  enough  to  look  after  your  health,  but  a  Methodist 
preacher,  like  a  soldier,  is  a  means  to  an  end.  If  the  Church 
demands  it,  a  Methodist  preacher  can  even  afford  to  die. 
Death  with  him  is  only  a  question  of  time,  anyway.  He  is 
supposed  always  to  be  ready  for  it.  This  Church  is  a  post  of 
honor  as  well  as  duty.  It  has  done  no  good  for  a  few  years, 
and  I  am  looking  for  the  man  to  take  hold  of  it.  If  it  should 
fall  to  your  lot  you  ought  to  rejoice  and  feel  honored.  So  just 
compose  yourself  and  I  will  take  care  of  yon  and  the  Church, 
too.  Now  go  in  peace  and  make  yourself  an  obedient  son 
in  the  gospel." 

I  made  haste  to  depart,  for  I  knew  what  that  old  Bishop 
meant  by  that  talk.  I  have  often  wondered  how  under  the 
sun  I  ever  mustered  up  courage  to  go  to  his  room  and  have 
that  talk  with  him.  It  was  monumental  cheek  on  my  part,  and 
it  was  as  fruitless  of  favorable  results  as  it  was  monumental. 

The  next  night  I  was  read  out  to  Market  Street  Church, 
Chattanooga,  and  at  the  close  of  the  proceedings  Bishop  Mc- 
Tyeire  took  me  by  the  hand  cordially  and  said : 

"I  have  put  you  here  on  purpose.  Take  hold  of  things 
with  a  strong  grip,  sell  this  old  property,  buy  a  lot  on  the 
hill  and  build  a  house  creditable  to  Southern  Methodism.  I 
will  remember  you  in  my  prayers,  and  may  the  good  Lord 
give  you  wisdom  and  strength  to  accomplish  wonderful  things 
in  the  midst  of  these  great  possibilities." 

This  last  talk  gave  me  a  warm  feeling  for  that  great  man, 
but  the  other  one  impressed  me  otherwise.  The  Church  has 
never  had  but  one  Bishop  McTyeire. 

Market  Street  Church  was  located  on  a  fine  business  corner, 
but  it  was  a  dingy  old  brick  structure,  out  of  date  and  un- 


2.J2  The  Story  of  My  Life 

attractive.  It  had  more  than  two  hundred  members,  most  of 
whom  were  women  and  children.  The  Sunday-school  was 
small  and  there  was  no  evidence  of  enterprise  or  Church 
pride.  While  the  conference  was  in  session  it  still  owed  its 
pastor  three  hundred  dollars  on  his  salary;  its  old  parsonage 
was  burned  down  and  a  rented  house  had  to  be  provided. 

Beside  this,  Chattanooga  was  a  cosmopolitan  city,  over- 
grown, crude,  wicked  and  a  mixture  of  Southern  and  North- 
ern people — a  sort  of  mongrel  population  bent  more  on  trying 
to  make  money  than  to  build  up  moral  sentiment  or  develop- 
ing Church  interests. 

It  was  full  of  dirty  saloons  and  dives,  and  its  wickedness 
was  bold  and  aggressive.  True,  there  were  good  people 
among  them,  and  quite  a  number  of  them  were  in  that  Church ; 
but  to  me  it  was  a  forbidding  outlook. 

I  reached  the  city  Tuesday  after  the  next  Sunday,  and  the 
daily  papers  announced  my  arrival  and  that  I  would  conduct 
prayer  service  Wednesday  night.  There  were  six  people  at 
the  service  and  I  had  to  pray  twice  in  order  to  be  able  to  call 
it  a  prayer-meeting.    And  it  was  a  bright,  pleasant  night,  too. 

I  put  in  a  few  days  studying  the  situation,  and  then  called 
my  board  together  for  a  council  of  war.  Several  of  them  were 
stanch  business  men,  and  they  promised  me  their  support  and 
co-operation.  The  next  Sunday  the  house  was  two-thirds  full, 
and  not  so  many  at  night. 

I  put  in  a  few  weeks  looking  over  the  field  and  taking  an 
inventory  of  the  assets  and  liabilities,  and  then  proceeded  to 
form,  in  my  own  mind,  my  plans  of  operation.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  dispose  of  that  property  and  secure  an  eligible  site 
for  a  new  church.  The  other  congregations,  especially  the 
Presbyterians  and  Northern  Methodists,  had  handsome  struc- 
tures under  way.     So  it  was  not  long  until  we  had  gotten  an 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  273 

option  on  the  lot  we  wanted,  then  we  quietly  got  some  real 
estate  agents  at  work. 

As  the  year  advanced  we  sold  the  old  property  for  thirty- 
six  thousand  dollars  and  closed  the  deal  for  the  new  lot  for 
five  thousand  dollars.  Architects  soon  had  plans  for  the  new 
church  and  the  work  of  building  was  not  long  in  taking  shape. 
It  required  nearly  two  years  to  complete  the  building,  and  for 
the  time  being  we  worshiped  in  the  old  structure.  In  the 
meantime  we  rebuilt  the  parsonage  and  had  a  comfortable 
place  to  live  in.  The  enterprise  thus  inaugurated  put  new 
life  into  my  people  and  my  work  began  to  look  like  something. 

In  the  late  spring  I  made  an  effort  to  get  the  ministers  of 
the  city  to  join  me  in  an  invitation  to  get  Sam  Jones  to  visit 
Chattanooga  and  hold  a  meeting  for  us.  The  city  needed  just 
such  a  shaking  up  as  he  was  qualified  to  give  to  it,  but  not 
one  of  them  would  countenance  the  movement.  Jones  had 
then  been  in  Memphis  and  Knoxville  and  stirred  the  natives, 
and  our  preachers  were  afraid  to  risk  him  in  Chattanooga. 

So  I  assumed  all  responsibility  and  extended  him  the  invi- 
tation. He  readily  accepted,  for  he  was  not  the  popular  evan- 
gelist that  he  afterward  became.  There  was  much  criticism 
and  murmuring  because  I  had  arranged  for  him  to  come. 
There  was  some  of  it  in  my  own  congregation.  But  the  bulk 
of  them  were  with  me.  Our  old  Church  was  the  only  place 
we  had  for  him.  The  daily  papers,  especially  the  Times,  inti- 
mated what  it  would  do  for  him  if  he  made  the  same  attacks 
on  Chattanooga  society  that  he  had  done  at  other  places.  All 
this  gave  him  wide  advertisement. 

So  when  he  came  the  face  of  the  earth  tried  to  get  into 
that  dingy  old  house.  For  two  hundred  feet  around  it  the 
space  was  packed  an  hour  before  the  night  service  was  ready 
to  begin.    I  had  tried  to  have  a  choir  in  readiness,  but  I  never 


274  The  Story  of  My  Life 

saw  one  of  them  in  place  that  night.  They  had  waited  too 
long  and  there  was  no  room  for  them.  I  took  Sam  Jones 
through  a  window  from  the  rear.  A  hush  fell  on  the  congre- 
gation as  he  asked  us  to  sing  something.  I  started  a  hymn 
and  got  it  too  high.  Nobody  joined  me.  I  tried  it  again  and 
got  it  too  low,  with  the  same  result.    He  turned  to  me  and  said : 

"You  can  stop  that  music.  I  can  take  two  free  niggers 
down  in  Georgia  and  beat  all  such  singing." 

The  audience  roared.  They  had  come  out  to  hear  just  such 
as  that  and  they  enjoyed  it.  He  then  called  them  to  prayer 
and  I  never  heard  a  sweeter  prayer.  He  then  looked  down 
at  the  string  of  reporters  just  under  him  in  the  altar  and  said : 

"My,  Lord !  Am  I  to  be  nibbled  to  death  by  these  tadpoles  ? 
I  understand  that  you  are  going  to  show  me  up.  You  are! 
Where  did  you  chaps  spend  last  night?  Where  do  you  spend 
the  most  of  your  nights  ?  I  know !  Now  you  open  up  on  me. 
I  will  preach  here  at  six  in  the  morning,  at  eleven  in  the  day, 
at  three  to-morrow  afternoon  and  again  to-morrow  night. 
You'll  get  one  shot  a  day  at  me,  but  I  will  get  four  at  you 
and  every  time  I  fire  you'll  hit  the  ground  running.  Now  do 
your  best,  boys,  and  we'll  have  some  fun  in  Chattanooga  while 
this  meeting  goes  on,  if  we  do  not  have  anything  else." 

Then  he  preached  a  very  telling  sermon.  He  went  back  to 
the  parsonage  with  me,  for  no  one  volunteered  to  entertain  him. 

At  six  the  next  morning  the  house  was  crowded,  and  so  it 
was  at  the  other  services.  The  altar  was  crowded  also  with 
penitents.  The  preachers  then  began  to  run  over  each  other 
to  get  into  the  meeting,  throwing  open  their  houses  for  after- 
services.  Everybody  wanted  to  entertain  him.  The  meeting 
increased  each  hour  in  interest  until  it  swept  the  city  like  a 
tidal  wave.  It  was  deep,  strong,  irresistible,  wonderful.  It 
lasted  ten  days,  and  the  three  Sundays  following  I  received  into 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  275 

my  Church  one  hundred  and  forty-eight  members,  nearly  all 
of  whom  were  young  men  and  middle-aged  men.  The  other 
congregations  were  likewise  blessed. 

It  was  the  first  great  revival  that  the  city  had  known.  It 
put  Church  work  and  religion  twenty  years  in  advance  of  what 
it  was  at  the  beginning.  It  practically  revolutionized  the  moral 
and  religious  status  of  Chattanooga.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
effective  meetings  that  Sam  Jones  ever  held.  The  newspapers 
treated  him  royally.  They  put  his  sermons  into  the  Associated 
Press  dispatches  and  sent  them  to  the  great  dailies  of  the 
country.  From  that  moment  Sam  Jones  was  great  in  the 
esteem  of  the  public,  in  the  pulpit  and  on  the  platform. 

My  Church  work  received  a  great  impetus.  Some  of  the 
strongest  men  in  the  city  came  into  my  membership,  and  from 
that  day  till  the  present  they  have  been  the  bone  and  sinew 
of  Chattanooga  Methodism.  The  church  building  went  for- 
ward rapidly,  and  one  day  when  it  was  nearly  completed  Sam 
Jones  was  passing  through  the  city  and  stopped  with  me.  As 
we  walked  by  the  new  building — a  splendid  structure  it  was — 
he  asked  me  who  was  going  to  dedicate  it?  I  told  him  we 
had  not  agreed  on  a  man  yet,  but  I  guessed  one  of  the  Bishops. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "when  you  have  a  dirty  job  like  that  meeting 
you  wanted  me  to  hold  Sam  Jones  is  all  right.  But  when  you 
have  a  nice  job  like  this  you  want  a  Bishop !" 

A  few  nights  after  that  my  board  met  and  I  took  up  the 
question  of  selecting  the  preacher  to  conduct  the  dedicatory 
service,  and  with  one  voice  they  wanted  Sam  Jones !  I  knew 
that  it  was  a  mistake,  but  the  most  of  them  were  converts  in 
his  late  meeting  and  I  could  not  well  oppose  them.  They 
agreed  on  Sam  Jones.  But  I  prepared  to  cover  the  retreat 
by  getting  them  to  invite  Dr.  J.  B.  McFerrin  and  Dr.  O.  P. 
Fitzgerald  to  be  present  and  take  charge  of  the  dedicatory 


276  The  Story  of  My  Life 

service  after  the  sermon,  and  they  agreed  to  it.  It  looked  like 
putting  those  two  distinguished  men  to  a  poor  use,  but  it  was 
the  best  I  could  do. 

The  day  and  the  occasion  came  round.  A  great  congrega- 
tion filled  the  splendid  structure.  It  was  a  thing  of  beauty, 
large,  commodious,  out  of  debt  and  handsomely  furnished. 
Sam  Jones  was  on  hand.  So  were  the  two  leading  men  al- 
ready mentioned.  I  had  my  fears  of  what  he  would  do  and 
say.  He  took  his  text:  "Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens  and 
so  fulfill  the  law  of  Christ."  For  ten  minutes  it  was  touchingly 
beautiful.  Then  he  paused  and  looked  round  at  the  audito- 
rium.    No  one  knew  what  was  coming  next. 

"You  fellows  think  that  I  am  here  to  say  nice  things  about 
you  for  building  this  church,  do  you  ?  Well,  if  you  do  you  have 
got  the  wrong  sow  by  the  yer!" 

I  knew  we  were  gone.  He  looked  down  at  the  circle  of  the 
Official  Board  as  they  sat  round  the  altar. 

"What  do  you  fellows  pay  your  preacher?" 

Not  one  of  them  chirped. 

"What  do  you  pay  him',  Tom  Snow?  What  is  it,  John 
Martin?" 

The  last  named  saw  that  an  answer  must  come,  and  he  said : 

"Twelve  hundred  dollars." 

Jones  groaned  until  you  could  have  heard  him  a  block. 

"A  seventy-thousand-dollar  Church  and  a  twelve-hundred- 
dollars  preacher !  My,  what  a  spectacle !  Well,  I  know  that's 
all  Rankin's  worth ;  but  you  ought  to  give  the  poor  fellow 
something.  The  few  days  I  spent  at  his  house  in  the  beginning 
of  that  meeting  the  Lord  knows  I'd  been  glad  if  somebody 
had  sent  something  round  there." 

And  thus  he  continued  to  the  end  of  his  harangue.     I  was 


MISS  LOUIE  BOYD  RANKIN 

PIANIST 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  2JJ 

never  so  crestfallen.  The  whole  audience  became  hilarious  at 
my  expense.     I  was  relieved  when  he  took  his  seat. 

Dr.  Fitzgerald  came  forward,  and  the  dignity  of  the  service 
recovered  itself.  He  made  a  beautiful  talk.  Dr.  McP"errin 
took  charge  and  delivered  one  of  his  inimitable  addresses. 
He  spoke  of  the  time  that  he  was  a  chaplain  on  the  battlefield 
of  Chickamauga,  the  last  Sunday  that  he  was  in  that  vicinity ; 
and  he  related  one  of  the  most  touching  incidents  I  ever  heard 
about  how  he  walked  over  the  battlefield  trying  to  comfort  the 
dying;  how  he  found  a  handsome  young  fellow  in  gray  with 
his  life-blood  ebbing  away,  and  how  he  recognized  in  him  the 
son  of  one  of  his  old  Alabama  friends ;  how  the  young  man 
told  him  to  feel  in  his  pocket  and  get  out  his  Testament ;  how 
he  found  his  mother's  name  in  it.  As  he  prayed  with  him  a 
young  fellow  near  by  called  out  to  him  and  said  that  he  had 
his  mother's  Testament,  too.  He  turned  and  it  was  a  boy  in 
blue.  As  the  old  Doctor  told  how  he  knelt  there  holding  each 
young  fellow's  hand  as  he  prayed  for  them,  and  finally  how 
the  death  struggle  was  soon  over  with  both  of  them,  it  broke 
the  whole  congregation  into  tears.  The  application  he  made 
of  the  incident  was  telling.  Then  he  read  the  dedicatory 
service,  and  the  day  was  saved ! 

Was  I  correct  in  my  estimate  of  Sam  Jones'  performance? 
No !  He  knew  what  he  was  doing.  The  next  day  a  wagon 
drove  up  to  the  parsonage  and  left  flour,  lard,  meat,  sugar, 
coffee  and  the  like,  enough  to  last  us  nearly  the  rest  of  the 
year.  And  Monday  night  the  stewards  met  and  increased  my 
salary  to  eighteen  hundred  dollars !  Did  myself  and  wife  for- 
give Sam  for  that  reference  to  us?  Well,  we  will  let  you 
answer  that  question. 

Great,  big-hearted  Sam  Jones !  Only  the  books  of  the  Judg- 
ment will  fully  disclose  the  extent  of  the  good  he  did  in  his 


278  The  Story  of  My  Life 

own  peculiar  way.  God  had  a  work  for  him  to  do,  and  right 
well  did  he  do  it  before  he  went  hence.  Let  the  world  criticise 
him  as  it  may,  but  the  Lamb's  Book  of  Life  has  more  to  his 
credit  than  almost  any  score  of  those  who  wrought  by  his  side 
in  the  Master's  vineyard.  He  was  himself  and  nobody  else; 
and  let  his  work  testify  as  to  whether  he  was  blessed  of  God 
in  his  unique  ministry. 

The  saloons  of  Chattanooga  were  intolerable,  and  I  deter- 
mined to  make  an  aggressive  warfare  on  them.  They  were 
fearful  in  their  influence  on  the  working  classes  and  on  the 
young  men  of  the  city.  I  prepared  myself  to  speak  with 
some  authority  concerning  them.  So  I  quietly  spent  two  nights 
in  them  making  an  investigation  of  them.  I  did  not  assume 
much  disguise  in  this  method  of  inquiry.  It  was  not  neces- 
sary, especially  in  the  working  districts  of  the  city.  They 
lived  such  an  exclusive  life  of  their  own  that  nowhere  did 
they  recognize  me,  except  the  latter  part  of  the  last  night 
when  I  visited  the  more  prominent  places  in  the  business 
districts.  I  did  not  spend  a  very  great  time  in  either  place; 
just  remained  long-  enough  to  see  the  character  and  number 
of  patrons  in  them  and  their  manner  of  life  and  conduct.  In 
this  way  I  gathered  a  great  deal  of  first-hand  information,  and 
I  was  ready  to  speak,  not  from  hearsay,  but  from  personal  ob- 
servation. When  in  a  few  of  them  I  was  recognized,  my  pres- 
ence created  a  panic. 

After  this  tour  of  inspection  I  announced  through  the  papers 
that  I  would  preach  a  series  of  sermons  each  Sunday  night 
for  some  weeks  on  "Two  Nights  in  the  Barrooms  and  What 
I  Saw".  The  announcement  created  a  sensation,  and  during 
the  winter  Sunday  nights  of  1886-87  my  congrgations  were 
limited  to  the  size  and  capacity  of  my  auditorium.  The  Daily 
Times  published  each  sermon  in  their  Monday  morning  issue 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  279 

until  I  had  completed  the  series.  There  were  twenty-four  of 
them,  and  they  were  red-hot  from  start  to  finish.  A  number 
of  the  papers,  weekly  as  well  as  daily,  reproduced  them ;  and 
they  had  much  to  do  with  the  Legislature's  submitting  the 
question  of  a  prohibition  State-wide  amendment  to  a  vote  of 
the  people  in  September,  1887. 

Twelve  of  these  sermons  were  published  in  pamphlet  form 
and  more  than  fifteen  thousand  copies  of  it  were  scattered 
broadcast  over  the  State.  It  brought  me  into  much  promi- 
nence, and  necessarily  made  me  a  striking  figure  in  the  cam- 
paign that  followed.  For  three  months  I  gave  myself  up 
almost  exclusively  to  campaigning  for  the  adoption  of  the 
amendment,  and  I  became  the  target  for  the  abuse  and  vili- 
fication of  the  liquor  papers  and  their  stump  speakers. 

The  Chattanooga  Times  was  especially  villainous  in  its  at- 
tacks upon  me,  and  left  nothing  unsaid  that  would  counteract 
my  influence  against  the  saloon.  The  libel  laws  of  Tennessee 
are  very  liberal  in  the  latitude  accorded  to  newspapers,  and 
their  assaults  upon  me  were  terrific.  They  strove  to  put  me 
in  every  false  light  possible,  and  my  only  recourse  was  to  get 
back  at  them  through  circulars  and  on  the  platform. 

I  remember  a  particularly  false  and  vicious  attack  of  the 
Times  on  me  toward  the  close  of  the  campaign,  and  I  an- 
nounced through  circulars  that  I  would  reply  on  Saturday 
night  at  the  temperance  wigwam  on  the  courthouse  square. 
There  must  have  been  four  or  five  thousands  people  present 
and  I  doubt  if  the  Chattanooga  Times  will  ever  forget  the 
excoriation  it  received  on  that  occasion.  The  editor,  with  two 
stenographers,  was  present  and  took  down  every  word  I  spoke, 
but  not  one  line  of  it  ever  appeared  in  the  columns  of  that 
prurient  whiskey  organ. 

I  had  one  very  amusing  joint  discussion  during  the  progress' 


280  The  Story  of  My  Life 

of  that  campaign.  I  had  many  of  them,  but  this  one  was 
peculiarly  interesting.  It  happened  on  Walden's  Ridge,  about 
eighteen  miles  from  Chattanooga.  Captain  J.  C.  Hutcheson, 
of  Houston,  Texas,  had  a  summer  residence  out  there,  and 
after  the  prohibition  campaign  in  Texas  that  same  year  was 
over  he  and  his  family  went  to  their  Walden  Ridge  summer 
home  for  their  vacation. 

I  knew  nothing  of  him  at  that  time,  and  he  had  never 
heard  tell  of  me.  He  had  taken  quite  an  active  part  in  the 
campaign  in  Texas  and  the  antis  had  won  by  ninety-two 
thousand  majority.  He  was  flushed  with  the  victory,  and  the 
antis  on  the  ridge  got  him  to  make  a  speech  for  them  on  the 
subject  and  tell  how  they  had  snowed  the  fanaticism  under 
in  Texas.  He  made  the  appointment  in  a  large  house  on  a 
week  night  and  challenged  any  pro  to  meet  him.  An  old  man 
jumped  on  a  flea-bitten  gray  and  galloped  over  the  city  to 
get  me  to  meet  the  Texas  Goliath. 

Of  course  I  was  ready  for  that  sort  of  a  tilt.  When  the 
time  came  I  was  on  the  ground,  and  after  dark  the  Captain 
and  his  family  drove  up.  I  was  introduced  to  him  and  he 
received  me  with  a  very  patronizing  and  gracious  manner. 
He  made  the  terms ;  he  would  speak  an  hour,  give  me  an  hour 
to  reply  and  he  would  take  twenty  minutes  to  make  his  re- 
joinder. It  was  satisfactory  and  we  went  into  the  house.  I 
knew  the  crowd,  and  three-fourths  of  them  were  pros.  He 
evidently  took  me  for  a  greenhorn  out  in  that  mountain  sec- 
tion. He  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  hour  crowing  over  their 
great  Texas  victory,  and  how  they  had  buried  prohibition  so 
deep  that  it  would  never  again  hear  the  resurrection  trumpet; 
that  they  were  done  with  it  forever.  And  he  told  them  how 
to  dispose  of  it  in  a  similar  way  in  Tennessee.    He  left  down 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  281 

a  number  of  glaring  gaps  and  made  himself  the  most  vulner- 
able man  I  ever  tackled  in  a  joint  discussion. 

When  I  arose  to  reply  he  saw  for  the  first  time  that  the 
crowd  was  against  him.  I  determined  to  have  a  little  fun  at 
his  expense.  I  stated  that  the  gentleman  had  spent  the  most 
of  his  hour  bragging  about  what  he  had  done  to  help  over- 
whelm prohibition  in  Texas,  but  when  it  was  remembered 
that  every  man  in  Tennessee  for  the  last  fifty  years  who  had 
done  something  which  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  leave  the 
State  for  the  public  good,  had  gone  to  Texas,  and  that  all 
such  men  from  other  States  had  found  it  necessary  to  do  like- 
wise; that  nobody  was  the  least  surprised  that  the  majority 
against  prohibition  in  Texas  was  only  ninety-two  thousand. 
The  only  surprise  to  people  who  knew  the  facts  was  that  it 
had  not  been  twice  that  much.  But  Tennessee  was  not  Texas. 
Then  I  threw  down  the  challenge  to  him  to  tell  the  audience 
whether  or  not  he  was  a  native  Texan.  He  sat  there  perfectly 
dumb.    The  audience  shouted : 

"Make  him  tell;  make  him  tell!" 

Finally  he  rose  and  said : 

"I  was  born  in  Virginia." 

After  the  crowd  got  through  shouting  I  said : 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  Captain  himself  says  that  he 
is  not  a  native  Texan.  Now  I  do  not  know  why  he  left 
Virginia  for  Texas,  but  I  know  why  pople  leave  Tennessee 
for  Texas — it  is  for  the  good  of  Tennessee!  Therefore  is  he 
not  a  nice  specimen  to  come  all  the  way  from  the  cow  pastures 
of  Texas  to  teach  Tennesseans  their  duty  on  moral  questions  ? 
Why,  he  ought  to  write  the  Governor  of  Virginia  and  request 
him  to  suspend  all  writs  temporarily  against  fugitives  from 
that  State,  so  as  to  permit  him  to  return  to  his  native  heath 


282 


ijThe  Story  of  My  Life 


Capt.  Hutcheson  and  Myself  in  Joint  Discussion. 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  283 

and  teach  his  new  moral  code  to  the  State  from  whose  confines 
he  moved  a  few  years  ago !" 

The  audience  went  wild,  and  from  that  time  to  the  close  I 
had  things  my  own  way. 

When  the  Captain  arose  to  reply  he  was  actually  angry  and 
used  a  mild  cuss  word,  and  then  an  old  lady  back  in  the 
audience  sprang  to  her  feet  and  shouted : 

"May  the  good  Lord  send  a  thunderbolt  this  moment  to  kill 
such  a  wretch  on  the  spot !'" 

That  practically  broke  up  the  meeting.  A  few  years  after 
that  I  was  sent  to  Houston,  Texas,  as  pastor  of  Shearn  Memo- 
rial Church,  and  I  saw  from  the  papers  that  Captain  Hutcheson 
was  a  candidate  for  Congress  from  that  district. 

One  day  Kev.  John  E.  Green  and  myself  were  standing  on 
the  street  corner  and  a  gentleman  came  up  and  spoke  to  him 
and  shook  hands  with  me  also — just  like  all  candidates  usually 
do.  I  recognized  him,  but  he  did  not  recognize  me,  but  re- 
marked that  my  face  was  familiar.     Green  said : 

"Captain  Hutcheson,  excuse  me,  this  is  Dr.  Rankin,  our  new 
pastor  at  Shearn  Church." 

A  quizzical  look  came  to  his  face  and  he  said : 

"Yes,  I  know  him ;  and  what  have  you  done,  sir,  that  you, 
too,  have  come  to  Texas?" 

The  laugh  was  mutual,  and  we  became  fast  friends. 

Prohibition  in  Tennessee  was  defeated  by  twenty-five  thou- 
sand majority,  but  throughout  East  Tennessee,  the  section  for 
which  I  became  responsible,  it  went  pro  by  a  good  majority. 
But  the  work  was  not  lost,  neither  was  the  cause.  We  sowed 
the  seed  and  the  harvest  was  gathered  several  years  later,  and 
now  Tennessee  is  a  prohibition  State. 

I  was  worn  out  when  the  contest  was  over  and  I  had  only  a 
few  weeks  in  which  to  finish  up  my  work  for  conference — the 


284  The  Story  of  My  Life 

end  of  my  quadrennium.     This  I  did  and  when  the  end  of 
the  year  came  I  was  ready  to  render  a  good  account. 

I  had  had  four  of  the  hardest  years  of  my  life  in  that  city 
by  the  river,  but  my  work  was  a  vindication  of  what  I  had 
done.  There  stood  that  handsome  new  building,  with  a  mem- 
bership of  over  six  hundred;  it  was  paid  out  of  debt,  the 
Sunday-school  was  quadrupled,  the  new  parsonage  was  free 
of  obligation,  the  salary  of  the  preacher  had  been  practically 
doubled,  and  Centenary  Church  was  one  of  the  dominant 
forces  in  the  city,  and  the  first  Church  in  the  conference. 

Two  or  three  days  before  I  left  for  conference  I  went  in 
home  one  day  and  to  my  surprise  I  found  Bishop  McTyeire 
stretched  .out  on  the  lounge  in  the  parlor.  He  grasped  my 
hand  and  said: 

"Well,  you  are  not  dead !  You  look  like  a  man  very  much 
alive,  and  yet  you  thought  you  would  certainly  die  if  I  took 
you  up  from  Asheville  and  put  you  down  here.  I  have  just 
been  round  to  the  church,  and  I  see  that  you  have  done  what 
I  told  you  to  do.  And  you  have  done  it  well.  Don't  you  see 
that  a  preacher  does  not  always  know  what  is  best  for  him 
and  his  work?  You  have  made  yourself  by  coming  to 
Chattanooga." 

I  had  made  many  friends  in  that  city.  Two-thirds  of  its 
members  had  been  taken  into  the  Church  under  my  ministry. 
They  were  greatly  attached  to  me,  for  notwithstanding  the 
strenuous  life  I  had  led,  and  had  led  them  as  well,  they  never 
flickered  in  their  support  of  me.  They  stood  by  me  amid 
all  the  attacks  of  the  liquor  demon  and  cheered  me  in  every 
blow  I  delivered  upon  his  fiendish  head.  But  it  had  been  war 
to  the  knife  and  the  knife  to  the  hilt. 

When  the  time  came  to  dissolve  my  relation  with  them,  not- 
withstanding my  attachment  for  them,  I  felt  that  my  work  was 


Four  Eventful  Years  in  Chattanooga  285 

done  and  I  was  ready  for  the  change.  I  had  been  in  war  until 
I  actually  wanted  a  season  of  peace.  I  felt  like  I  had  won  an 
honorable  furlough,  and  I  was  ready  to  stack  arms  for  the 
time  being  and  get  away  from  the  smell  of  gunpowder. 


Chapter  XX 

Four  Years  in  Ashville,  and  More 

While  I  was  ready  to  change  from  Chattanooga,  yet  I  had 
a  great  deal  of  anxiety  about  who  would  succeed  me  in  the 
pastorate  of  Centenary  Church.  I  had  devoted  four  of  the 
best  years  of  my  life  to  it;  I  had  seen  every  piece  of  material 
go  into  its  structure  from  the  foundation  to  its  finial;  I  had 
received  the  most  of  its  members  into  its  communion;  I  had 
baptized  many  of  them  and  felt  toward  them  all  a  little  like  a 
father  feels  toward  his  children,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I  did 
not  see  how  it  was  possible  for  the  right  man  to  be  found  to 
take  my  place  as  their  pastor! 

I  had  literally  built  myself  into  their  life,  and  I  had  built 
their  life  into  mine.  They  had  become  a  part  of  me.  But  the 
conference  came  along  and  sent  me  to  another  charge  and 
put  Dr.  J.  P.  McFerrin  in  my  stead. 

Two  years  afterward  I  had  occasion  to  visit  my  old  Church, 
and  I  was  not  long  in  finding  out  that  they  were  getting  along 
even  better  than  when  I  was  their  pastor!  Then  I  sought  to 
comfort  myself  with  the  thought  that  I  had  done  my  work 
while  there  so  thoroughly  that  most  any  man  could  follow 
me  and  succeed. 

At  least  I  learned  that  no  one  man  is  indispensable  to  the 
success  of  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  and  that  it  is  a  waste  of 
time  for  one  preacher  to  grieve  over  the  fate  of  his  successor. 
The  Church  will  take  care  of  that  feature  of  the  work. 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  287 

During  my  quadrennium  at  Chattanooga  Bishop  J.  C.  Keener 
held  one  session  of  our  conference,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
his  company  in  my  home.  He  was  somewhat  different  from 
any  of  the  other  Bishops  I  have  described,  both  as  a  preacher 
and  a  presiding  officer.  He  was  well  developed  physically ;  had 
a  large  frame,  a  florid  complexion,  light  hair,  a  smoothly- 
chiseled  face  of  classic  mold,  a  fine  head  and  a  massive  form. 

He  had  all  the  marks  of  greatness.  His  training  had  been 
excellent,  his  experience  varied,  and  his  natural  endowments 
original  and  lofty.  He  was  possessed  of  a  dreamy  and  a  poetic 
temperament  and  lived  a  good  deal  in  the  realm  of  the  ideal. 
He  was  not  a  practical  man  like  Bishop  McTyeire,  but  he 
was  just  as  great  in  his  own  way.  He  was  more  entertaining 
and  vivacious  in  his  conversation  and  preaching.  There  was 
a  well-defined  strain  of  genius  in  him,  and  occasionally  he  was 
sparkling  and  refulgent  in  the  pulpit. 

In  some  of  his  public  prayers  he  was  a  marvel.  He  was  not 
always  the  same  in  the  pulpit.  Often  he  would  reach  altitudes 
of  thought  in  the  sweep  of  his  imagination  and  dream  dreams 
and  see  visions  that  he  was  unable  to  make  plain  to  his 
auditors ;  and  at  times  it  was  like  trying  to  grasp  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow  for  the  average  listener  to  follow  him  and  clearly 
perceive  his  conceptions  of  thought. 

He  towered  amid  spiritual  realms  too  ethereal  and  sub- 
limated for  ordinary  mortals.  But  this  was  only  occasional. 
For  the  most  part  his  sermons  were  as  beautiful  and  inspiring 
as  prose  poems.  I  heard  him  preach  a  few  of  this  sort  and  I 
have  never  heard  them  surpassed. 

As  a  Bishop  he  was  replete  with  variety,  and  he  often  gave 
zest  and  brightness  to  the  proceedings  of  the  conference  ses- 
sions. There  was  nothing  dull  or  routine  in  his  manner  of 
presiding;  and  in  the  Cabinet,  while  pleasant  and  brotherly, 


288  The  Story  of  My  Life 

he  usually  determined  matters  to  suit  himself.  But  he  was  so 
good-natured  and  masterful  that  no  one  seriously  objected  to 
the  finality  of  his  actions. 

In  the  private  circle  he  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  men 
I  ever  met.  He  loved  children  and  flowers  and  music,  and  the 
companionship  of  congenial  friends  was  his  delight. 

Bishop  McTyeire  held  the  session  of  the  conference  the  last 
year  I  was  at  Chattanooga,  and  it  met  at  Abingdon.  It  was 
my  good  fortune  to  be  entertained  at  the  good  home  of  Victor 
Litchfield  with  him.  He  was  then  in  the  full  maturity  of  his 
great  powers;  in  fact,  he  was  just  over  the  hill  in  the  turn 
of  his  life.  He  came  into  my  room  on  Sunday  morning  only 
partly  dressed  and  had  his  Bible  in  his  hands  and  remarked: 

"I  have  just  finished  reading  Paul's  great  exposition  of  the 
doctrine  of  the  resurrection,  and  it  is  grand  beyond  descrip- 
tion. What  a  revelation  the  apostle  had  of  the  glory  of  the 
resurrection  body !  This  chapter  is  the  greatest  that  Paul  ever 
penned.  As  I  find  myself  traveling  toward  the  sunset  these 
words  contain  meanings  for  me  of  which  I  never  dreamed  in 
my  younger  ministry." 

And  thus  for  half  an  hour  I  listened  to  a  most  instructive 
exposition  of  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  Paul's  first  Epistle  to  the 
Corinthians.  When  he  was  through  I  remarked  to  him  that 
some  years  previous  in  the  volume  of  sermons  known  as  "The 
Methodist  Pulpit,  South",  I  had  read  his  sermon  on  the  "Inter- 
mediate State",  and  that  I  had  often  wondered  if  in  his 
maturer  years  and  closer  study  he  had  found  it  necessary 
to  change  his  views  on  that  subject.  He  shook  his  head 
and  said : 

"No !  On  the  contrary,  I  am  more  firmly  convinced  of  the 
truthfulness  of  the  position  taken  in  that  discourse  now  than 
when  I  first  prepared  it!" 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  289 

On  Monday  morning  I  picked  up  the  Daily  Tribune,  pub- 
lished at  Knoxville,  and  read  the  account  of  the  Emma  Abbott 
episode  at  McKendree  Church,  Nashville,  the  day  before  when 
young  Dr.  W.  A.  Candler  preached  his  famous  sermon  on 
"The  Evils  of  the  Modern  Theater",  and  called  the  Bishop's 
attention  to  it.     He  remarked : 

"My,  what  an  advertising  stroke  for  her !  Her  perform- 
ance will  be  in  every  paper  in  America,  and  they  will  laud  her 
beyond  the  sky  for  her  reply  to  the  preacher.  But  it  was  an 
unpardonable  violation  of  the  proprieties  of  the  Church  service. 
However,  she  is  a  woman  and  that  fact  will  obscure  her  ir- 
reverence. Mark  what  I  say !  Some  Nashville  preacher  will 
be  in  the  papers  in  twenty-four  hours  defending  her  course." 

And  his  prediction  came  true.  At  the  close  of  that  session 
he  was  kind  enough  to  send  me  back  to  Asheville  to  finish  up 
the  quadrennium  which  I  had  only  begun  four  years  before, 
when  he  broke  into  it  by  sending  me  to  Chattanooga  at  the  end 
of  my  first  year.  To  me  this  was  gratifying.  It  took  me  back 
there  with  a  richer  experience  and  with  better  qualifications 
for  continuous  work. 

In  many  respects  this  was  one  of  the  most  pleasant  charges 
of  my  ministry.  It  was  a  congregation  of  intelligent  people, 
cultivated  and  refined,  and  genuinely  Methodistic  in  their  train- 
ing and  customs.  They  had  a  great  deal  of  wealth  among 
them,  and  by  this  time  they  were  liberal  and  possessed  a  good 
Church  spirit.  There  were  responsibilities  enough  to  keep  a 
pastor  alert  and  active,  yet  there  were  no  such  responsibilities 
as  had  taxed  me  in  two  city  charges  preceding  this  one. 

It  was  an  easy  charge;  the  competition  was  not  great  and 
Methodism  had  the  right  of  way  in  the  community.  The  pas- 
toral work  was  not  difficult,  and  the  pulpit  work  was  suffi- 
ciently inspiring  to  prompt  one  to  his  best  effort.     But  they 


290  The  Story  of  My  Life 

were  good  people  to  preach  to ;  attentive,  appreciative  and  the 
most  hospitable  people  I  ever  served.  It  was  whole-souled, 
unstinted,  mountain  hospitality.  They  ministered  to  the  com- 
fort of  the  parsonage  family  with  full  hands  and  overflowing 
hearts.  It  was  a  positive  luxury  to  minister  to  them.  And 
there  was  a  good  field  for  evangelistic  work  also. 

Rev.  James  Atkins,  Jr.,  was  one  of  my  parishioners.  He 
was  President  of  Asheville  Female  College,  and  he  was  broth- 
erly, helpful  and  cordial.  He  was  a  man  of  keen  intellect, 
broad  culture,  extensive  reading;  and  to  be  associated  with 
him  was  an  inspiration. 

I  had  in  my  congregation  a  very  remarkable  man,  a  local 
preacher.  His  name  was  Rev.  M.  L.  Pease.  He  had  been  a 
member  of  one  of  the  New  York  Conferences,  but  he  founded 
the  Five  Points  Mission  in  New  York,  and  took  a  local  relation 
to  devote  himself  to  that  sort  of  work.  But  his  health  gave 
way  and  he  moved  to  Asheville  and  made  it  his  home. 

He  was  a  great  Sunday-school  man,  and  for  years  he  was 
the  Superintendent.  He  was  a  Yankee  and  knew  how  to  make 
money,  but  he  was  liberal  with  it,  and  he  loved  the  Church. 
He  founded  a  mission  school  in  his  home  for  poor  mountain 
girls,  and  in  this  way  rendered  a  valuable  service  to  humanity. 
If  among  them  now  and  then  he  found  one  specially  gifted,  he 
would  send  her  to  Vassar  or  some  other  great  school  and  give 
to  her  a  very  finished  education. 

He  had  his  own  peculiar  ideas  and  was  a  little  cranky,  but 
his  heart  was  always  in  the  right  place,  and  I  found  him  a 
most  useful  man.  But  I  had  to  humor  his  whims  and  pander 
to  his  harmless  vanity.  He  was  a  severe  critic  and  very  free 
with  his  suggestions.  You  could  tolerate  this  in  him  because 
he  was  always  ready  to  lead  in  any  Church  enterprise. 

l  want  to  mention  one  illustration  of  his  good  work  among 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  291 

needy  girls.  It  is  characteristic  of  him.  There  appeared  in 
the  Southern  Christian  Advocate,  which  was  then  published 
in  Macon,  Georgia,  a  written  account  of  a  girl  back  in  the 
mountains  of  North  Georgia  striving  to  educate  herself.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  local  preachers  at  Cottaca. 
The  writer  gave  a  sketch  of  her.  Her  Christian  name  was 
"Estalena".  It  was  given  to  her  by  the  Indians.  They  came 
from  the  Government  Reservation  near  by  her  father's 
house  when  she  was  a  little  baby,  and  she  was  so  fair  and 
beautiful  that  they  would  point  to  her  and  say,  "Estalena"; 
and  in  the  Indian  vernacular  it  meant  "Beautiful  Lily'.  It  was 
such  an  appropriate  name  that  the  parents  gave  it  to  her  in 
baptism.  She  grew  up  and  had  such  advantages  as  her  father 
could  give  to  her  in  a  small  school  taught  by  himself  until  she 
was  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  then  she  secured  a  little  sub- 
scription school  back  in  the  mountains  and  taught  to  make  a 
little  rnoney  to  go  to  school  again. 

Th?  circuit  preacher  held  service  in  her  schoolhouse  one 
ve;k  day  and  became  favorably  impressed  with  her;  found 
that  she  was  very  religious  and  that  she  opened  her  school 
every  morning  with  a  Bible  reading  and  prayer.  He  found 
out  all  the  above  facts  about  her  and  wrote  them  up  for  the 
Southern  Christian  Advocate.  That  copy  of  the  paper  fell  into 
Brother  Pease's  hand  and  he  at  once  wrote  and  got  into  com- 
munication with.  her. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  she  was  soon  in  his  school, 
went  through  his  course,  and  he  sent  her  to  Vassar  and  she 
became  a  most  accomplished  young  woman ;  and  after  that  was 
the  honored  wife  of  one  of  our  leading  ministers. 

Many  of  my  readers  have  heard  the  noted  evangelist,  George 
R.  Stuart,  use  her  as  an  illustration  in  one  of  his  greatest 
sermons,  showing  how  Christ,  though  rich,  for  our  sakes  be- 


#)2  The  Story  of  My  Life 

came  poor  and  adapted  himself  to  our  lowest  conditions  that 
he  might  save  us.  He  then  showed  how  this  lovely  girl, 
having  been  through  this  great  college,  her  country  folk 
imagined  that  she  would  be  above  them  now,  in  her  high 
estate;  but  instead  of  that  she  knew  better  than  ever  how  to 
make  herself  one  of  them,  and  gave  her  beautiful  life  to  the 
good  of  others.    That  was  this  lovely  girl,  Estalena  Robinson. 

Dear  old  Brother  Pease  has  long  been  in  his  heavenly  home, 
and  there  were  those  there  by  the  score  to  receive  him  into 
everlasting  habitations. 

Asheville  rapidly  became  a  health  resort.  People  of  pul- 
monary trouble  from  the  North  and  the  Northwest  flocked 
there  in  the  winter  season,  and  in  the  summer-time  great 
numbers  from  the  heated  South  found  those  breezes  refreshing. 
This  made  the  town  noted,  and  it  was  always  filled  with  great 
crowds  of  visitors  the  year  round.  It  increased  the  labor  of 
the  pastors,  for  many  of  these  sick  and  dying  people  needed 
the  consolations  of  the  gospel ;  and  it  gave  to  me  a  wide 
acquaintance  with  leading  people  from  all  sections  of  the  coun- 
try.    Many  prominent  ministers  were  among  them. 

One  summer  the  Rev.  George  Waverly  Briggs,  then  editor 
of  the  Texas  Christian  Advocate,  was  one  of  the  visitors,  and 
I  met  him  for  the  first  time.  I  had  him  to  preach  one  Sunday, 
and  his  sermon  carried  the  people  beyond  themselves.  There 
was  such  a  demand  to  hear  him  again  that  I  prevailed  upon 
him  to  preach  once  more.  This  time  it  was  well  advertised 
and  the  house  was  packed  to  its  capacity  and  expectation  ran 
high. 

He  was  an  exceedingly  handsome  man,  and  one  of  the  most 
gifted  in  the  Church.  His  sermon  was  on  the  Prodiga* 
Son,  and  it  was  a  gem.  His  delivery  was  perfect,  his  presence 
commanding,  and  I  have  never  seen  a  congregation  more  be- 


GEO.  C.  RANKIN  JR. 

OUR  ONLY  SON 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  293 

witched.  No  wonder,  for  it  was  the  perfection  of  oratory  and 
eloquence. 

Apparently  his  future  was  pregnant  with  promise,  and  it 
seemed  that  anything  within  the  gift  of  the  Qiurch  was  within 
his  reach.  His  endowment  was  princely,  his  genius  transcend- 
ent, and  had  his  consecration  equaled  his  splendid  gifts,  to 
what  promotion  might  he  not  have  aspired ! 

But,  alas,  alas !  I  always  feel  like  shedding  tears  whenever 
I  think  of  George  Waverly  Briggs  and  the  ill-fated  shadow 
that  fell  upon  his  brilliant  promise.  Yet  he  is  more  to  be 
pitied  than  condemned. 

Noble  in  nature,  gifted  in  intellect,  refulgent  in  genius ; 
nevertheless  he  was  weak  in  will-power,  and  in  an  evil  moment 
the  serpent  of  the  cup  beguiled  him ;  and,  like  a  blazing  meteor 
sweeping  through  the  heavens,  his  glorious  light  went  down 
into  the  appalling  gloom  of  a  starless  night  with  no  hope  of 
a  coming  morning. 

I  met  that  inimitable  statesman,  Senator  Zebulon  Vance, 
the  most  gifted  son  of  the  old  North  State.  He  was  a  noted 
man  in  the  National  galaxy  and  conspicuous  in  the  United 
States  Senate.  He  was  the  most  original  and  unique  politician 
of  his  day,  and  he  belonged  to  that  class  of  East  Tennessee 
politicians  already  described.  He  had  been  a  prominent 
General  in  the  Confederate  army,  had  twice  been  Governor  of 
the  State,  and  was  then  one  of  the  Senators  from  North 
Carolina. 

He  was  a  very  large  man,  weighing  nearly  three  hundred 
pounds.  He  had  a  heavy  countenance  and  looked  like  a  man 
without  humor.  He  rarely  ever  smiled  either  in  conversation 
or  on  the  rostrum,  yet  he  was  the  most  witty  and  humorous 
man  I  ever  heard  talk  or  speak.  No  man  could  stand  before 
him  on  the  hustings.     Whatever  he  wanted  his  constituents 


294  The  Story  of  My  Life 

were  ready  to  give  it  to  him.     They  denied  him  nothing.     I 

used  to  hear  him  at  his  best  before  his  "Buncombe"  audiences 
and  the  effect  was  positively  indescribable.  He  handled  them 
like  a  storm  handles  the  ocean. 

As  an  illustration  of  his  style  I  will  give  one  incident.  I  was 
in  Baltimore  in  1884  at  the  Centennial  of  Episcopal  Methodism, 
and  during  that  session  the  local  Democracy  gave  a  tariff  ban- 
quet to  leading  members  of  Congress.  It  occurred  at  the 
Academy  of  Music.  Among  those  present  were  Allen  G.  Thur- 
man,  Daniel  W.  Voorhees,  Samuel  J.  Randall,  John  G.  Carlisle, 
Zebulon  Vance  and  many  others. 

The  spectators  sat  in  the  balconies  and  heard  the  speeches. 
The  tariff  question  was  new  then  to  the  masses;  it  was  just 
becoming  an  issue.  The  toastmaster  introduced  each  speaker, 
and  some  of  them  were  eloquent;  but  no  enthusiasm  had  been 
produced.  It  came  Senator  Vance's  turn,  and  he  was  intro- 
duced as  the  distinguished  gentleman  from  "Buncombe". 

He  began :  "I  have  listened  with  much  interest  to  these  elo- 
quent gentlemen  as  they  have  spoken  upon  the  tariff,  but  for 
the  life  of  me  I  have  not  learned  anything  much.  They  do  not 
seem  to  understand  the  subject.  I  have  never  heard  but  one 
man  talk  on  the  subject  who  did  understand  it.  He  was  one 
of  my  old  'Buncombe'  constituents.  I  made  a  speech  up  there 
some  time  ago  on  the  tariff  and  I  guess  I  was  as  about  as  clear 
on  it  as  these  great  men  to-night.  As  I  left  the  door  of  the 
courthouse  two  of  my  constituents  were  discussing  my  speech. 
One  of  them  said :  'Smith,  did  Zeb  make  that  thar  taarif  clere 
to  you  ?'  Said  Smith :  'No,  he  didn't.  But  I  knowed  all  about 
it  afore  he  spoke.'  'Well,  what  is  it?'  Smith  said:  'Why, 
taarif  means  that  goods  has  riz.' " 

That  stroke  of  humor  brought  down  the  house,  and  the  more 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  295 

you  think  about  it  the  more  you  are  convinced  that  the  "Bun- 
combe" definition  of  tariff  is  about  complete. 

While  in  Asheville  I  had  another  fight  with  the  saloons. 
The  only  ones  in  the  county  were  in  that  city.  They  were  mean 
and  degraded,  as  saloons  always  are.  There  is  not  a  good  one 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  We  brought  on  an  election  and  it 
was  a  warm  one.  The  campaign  waxed  hot  and  hotter,  but 
the  so-called  "business  men"  threw  their  influence  toward  the 
antis  on  business  principles,  and  we  were  defeated  by  a  small 
majority.  Some  years  after  that  they  voted  the  saloons  out, 
and  since  then  the  State  swept  them  out  by  a  constitutional 
amendment. 

During  my  first  year  in  my  second  term  at  Asheville  I  was 
fortunate  in  having  for  my  associate  minister  Rev.  C.  M. 
Bishop,  fresh  from  Emory  and  Henry  College.  He  was  a 
scholarly  and  a  dignified  young  preacher ;  cultured,  refined  and 
self-possessed.  As  the  year  advanced  he  became  quite  atten- 
tive to  one  of  my  young  lady  members ;  really  she  looked  more 
like  a  girl  than  a  young  lady.  Some  of  my  more  sedate  and 
elderly  members  thought  he  was  carrying  on  a  flirtation  with 
her  and  began  to  take  notice  of  it.  Especially  Brother  Pease 
took  this  view  of  it.  At  our  Sunday-school  picnic  Brother 
Bishop  and  the  young  lady  were  quite  devoted,  and  two  of 
these  elderly  gentlemen  suggested  that  I  call  the  young  min- 
ister's attention  to  what  they  regarded  as  a  little  out  of  place 
and  undignified  in  his  fondness  for  this  particular  girl,  as  they 
styled  her.  I  was  loath  to  meddle  in  an  affair  of  that  sort  and 
protested,  but  they  were  quite  insistent.  That  was  Saturday, 
and  I  took  the  suggestion  under  advisement. 

Monday  following  I  was  seated  in  my  home  and  Brother 
Bishop  approached  up  the  sidewalk.  That  was  my  opportunity 
and  I  prepared  to  mention  the  matter  to  him.      After  he  was 


296  The  Story  of  My  Life  '***  '   m  * 

seated  alone  with  me,  and  before  I  had  time  to  work  up  to  the 
unpleasant  duty,  he  spoke  to  me  in  a  sort  of  confidential  way 
and  asked  me  if  I  would  be  at  home  on  next  Thursday  evening. 
I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  he  told  me  that  he  and  Miss 
Phoeby  Jones  were  to  be  married  on  that  evening  and  he 
wanted  me  to  perform  the  ceremony !  You  could  have  knocked 
me  down  with  a  feather.  She  looked  so  much  like  a  girl  I 
hardly  thought  of  her  as  a  woman,  but  it  relieved  me  of  my 
embarrassment. 

At  the  appointed  time  I  officiated  at  their  marriage,  and  a 
happy  marriage  it  proved  for  both  of  them.  She  was  the 
woman  he  needed  as  a  minister,  and  he  was  the  man  suited 
to  her;  and  their  wedded  lives  have  been  singularly  blessed 
of  God. 

I  had  good  success  during  all  my  years  at  Asheville,  and  my 
health  and  strength  wonderfully  improved.  Everything  was 
congenial  and  there  was  not  one  unpleasant  jar  in  my  relation 
as  pastor  and  preacher.  The  people  were  apparently  well 
pleased  and  I  was  most  assuredly  devoted  to  them.  I  had  one 
of  the  best  and  most  capable  Board  of  Stewards  in  the  whole 
of  my  pastorates,  and  they  attended  to  business  punctually  and 
systematically. 

Henry  Pendland  was  my  Treasurer,  and  I  have  never  seen 
him  excelled.  He  handed  my  check  to  me  every  Monday 
morning  as  regularly  as  clockwork,  and  his  fellowship  was 
truly  royal. 

The  last  conference  session  I  attended  at  Holston  was  at 
Morristown,  eighty  miles  below  Asheville,  and  at  a  point  where 
the  North  Carolina  Railroad  intersected  the  trunk  line  leading 
to  Knoxville.  It  was  an  ideal  place  to  hold  a  conference,  for 
it  was  about  an  equal  distance  from  all  points  of  the  territory. 

It  was  at  this  session  that  I  was  elected  a  delegate  to  the 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  297 

General  Conference  to  meet  the  following  May  in  St.  Louis, 
Missouri.  This  was  an  honor  that  I  appreciated  and  one  I  did 
not  expect. 

I  encountered  my  first  and  only  woman  scrape  at  this  con- 
ference, and  it  gave  me  the  fright  of  my  life.  We  had  an  ugly 
case  of  discipline,  and  Rev.  Frank  Richardson  and  myself  de- 
fended the  accused  minister.  I  was  stopping  at  the  hotel  and 
the  trial  took  place  each  night  at  the  courthouse,  a  half  mile 
away.  I  was  rooming  with  a  minister  upstairs,  midway  the 
building.  The  trial  concluded  Sunday  morning  about  half  past 
one  o'clock.  We  determined  to  finish  it  and  be  done  with  it. 
It  was  an  ugly  affair.  Our  line  of  defense  was  that  it  was  a 
conspiracy  upon  the  part  of  the  woman  in  the  case  with  de- 
signing persons  to  ruin  the  minister.  But  the  committee  found 
him  guilty  and  expelled  him  from  the  ministry  and  membership 
of  the  Church. 

As  I  left  the  courthouse  and  walked  down  the  street  toward 
the  hotel  I  was  in  a  deep,  brown  study  and  became  unconscious 
of  where  I  was  or  where  I  was  going.  The  thought  uppermost 
in  my  mind  was  that  if  this  man  was  innocent  and  thus  ruined 
by  wicked  persons,  whose  character  was  safe?  I  walked  on 
automatically  until  all  at  once  I  found  myself  at  the  door  of  my 
room.  It  was  locked  and  then  I  realized  where  I  was.  As  I 
stood  there  knocking  a  woman  across  the  hall  and  two  or  three 
rooms  beyond  put  her  head  out  at  the  door  and  said:  "Mr. 
Rankin,  come  to  this  room."  It  paralyzed  me  S  The  thought 
came  to  me :  Is  it  possible  that  just  after  my  experience  at  the 
courthouse  a  woman  here  in  this  hotel,  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  is  inviting  me  to  her  room  ?  The  cold  perspiration 
broke  out  on  me,  for  I  had  always  been  one  of  the  most  dig- 
nified and  prudent  of  men  in  my  association  with  women.  *  But 
once  more  she  put  her  head  out  of  the  door  and  invited  me  to 


298  The  Story  of  My  Life 

her  room;  and  this  time  I  recognized  the  voice  of  my  wife! 
Without  letting  me  know  anything  about  it  she  had  run  down 
from  Asheville  to  spend  Sunday  at  conference  and  arrived  after 
I  had  left  the  hotel  for  the  courthouse,  and  she  was  still  awake 
waiting  for  me,  so  as  to  let  me  know  the  room  to  which  I  had 
been  changed.  It  was  an  hour  before  my  heart  recovered  its 
normal  strokes. 

I  was  returned  to  Asheville  for  the  fourth  time,  and  the  next 
March  brought  to  me  the  most  touching  sorrow  of  my  life. 
I  received  a  telegram  telling  me  of  the  serious  illness  of  my 
dear  old  mother,  at  that  time  spending  a  few  weeks  at  my 
uncle's  near  Calhoun,  Georgia.  I  hastened  to  her  bedside  and 
found  her  extremely  low,  but  she  was  conscious  and  gave  me  a 
look  of  maternal  recognition.  She  grew  rapidly  worse,  went 
into  a  comatose  state  and  the  next  morning  just  as  the  sun 
climbed  up  the  Eastern  horizon  she  was  gathered  to  her  long- 
sought  home. 

As  the  last  breath  left  her  body  and  her  breast  grew  silent 
forever  I  felt  a  sense  of  loneliness  too  appalling  for  description. 
During  my  unconscious  childhood  she  had  watched  over  me  and 
emptied  her  life  into  mine ;  in  my  boyhood  she  had  guarded  my 
steps  like  an  angel ;  in  the  years  of  her  desolate  widowhood  I 
had  been  her  stay  and  comfort ;  during  the  time  I  was  strug- 
gling with  poverty  to  obtain  an  education  she  had  bared  her 
bosom  and  borne  the  brunt  at  home  to  give  me  a  chance,  and 
through  the  years  of  my  active  ministry  her  prayers  and  sym- 
pathies had  been  my  inspiration. 

But  now  her  life's  work  was  ended,  her  burdens  had  ceased, 
her  sorrows  had  come  to  a  close,  and  there  rested  a  heavenly 
calm  upon  her  dear  old  face  that  looked  like  the  sweetness  of 
unbroken  repose.    She  was  dead!    Her  eyes  could  no  longer 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  299 

see  me,  her  lips  could  no  longer  speak  to  me,  her  hand  could 
no  longer  touch  me,  her  smile  could  greet  me  no  more. 

My  heart  was  seized  with  an  aching,  tears  blinded  my  eyes, 
and  my  bosom  was  bursting  with  unheard  sobs.  I  was  lonely 
and  lost  without  her.     She  was  actually  gone ! 

It  was  in  the  early  morning  and  merry  birds  were  singing 
joyously  in  the  nearby  woodland.  All  nature  semed  busy  get- 
ting up  from  her  long,  wintry  sleep  and  robing  herself  in  the 
habiliments  of  green,  and  orange,  and  purple,  and  crimson ;  and 
through  the  uplifted  window  the  sunlight  was  streaming  in  and 
falling  like  a  shower  of  gold  upon  her  undisturbed  face.  But 
she  knew  it  not. 

I  stood  and  gazed  and  gazed  upon  her  peaceful  countenance 
and  longed  for  one  more  sound  of  her  silent  voice,  for  one  more 
touch  of  her  vanished  hand ;  but  there  was  no  response  to  my 
heart-cry!  I  listened,  and  there  was  the  silent  footfall  of  the 
angels,  and  I  heard  the  far-off  murmur  of  the  surf  of  the  great 
halleluiahs.  I  looked,  and  I  saw  in  the  dim  distance  the  flutter 
of  white  robes  amid  the  balm-breathing  gardens  of  God ;  and  I 
caught  the  echo  of  her  triumphant  shout  as  she  passed  through 
the  gates  into  the  city  of  the  immortal ! 

No,  no.  She  was  not  dead,  but  alive  forevermore !  She  was 
happy  with  her  Savior  and  her  reunited  loved  ones,  in  a  land 
where  shadows  never  fall,  where  the  flowers  never  wither, 
where  the  inhabitants  never  grow  old,  where  ties  are  never 
broken,  where  the  songs  of  the  redeemed  resound  from  the 
glinted  hilltops  of  the  eternal ! 

My  heart  felt  the  ecstasy.  They  were  all  there  but  me!  I 
looked  about  me,  and  my  eye  caught  sight  of  the  old  family 
Bible  lying  on  her  work-table  not  far  from  her  restful  form. 
It  was  the  same  old  book  that  had  been  her  companion  through 
life.    Yes,  it  was  the  same  old  book  that  I  saw  her  take  down 


300  The  Story  of  My  Life 

>*> 
that  desolate  evening  when  she  returned  in  her  young  widow- 
hood from  the  burial  of  my  father  twenty-six  years  before,  and 
from  it  then  read : 

"The  Lord  is  my  shepherd ;  I  shall  not  want.  Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled ;  ye  believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  me." 

I  ran  my  hand  through  its  pages.  Its  leaves  were  tear- 
stained,  its  corners  were  thumb-marked,  and  many  of  its  rarest 
texts  and  promises  were  interlined. 

During  those  long  and  weary  years  of  toil  and  poverty  and 
hardship  this  book  had  been  her  comfort,  her  consolation,  her 
never-failing  hope.  In  its  truths  she  had  rested  her  faith ;  and 
in  death  an  unseen  hand  from  its  apocalyptic  vision  had  reached 
forth  and  brushed  away  the  mists  and  fogs  that  gathered  about 
the  outgoing  of  her  life,  and  opened  to  her  disembodied  spirit 
the  gates  of  gold ! 

Were  there  nothing  else  to  convince  me  that  this  old  book 
is  the  sufficient  guide  to  struggling  humanity,  as  it  toils  through 
this  earthly  pilgrimage  to  that  land  from  out  whose  bourne  no 
traveler  returns,  the  joy  and  support  that  my  dear  old  mother 
got  out  of  it  is  enough  to  satisfy  me. 

To  her  it  was  divinely  inspired,  and  when  all  other  earthly 
helpers  vanished  she  found  this  her  unfailing  counselor  and 
guide.  It  was  her  hope  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  it  was  her 
pillar  of  strength  when  her  home-life  was  founded,  it  nerved 
her  heart  when  she  threw  around  her  form  the  sables  of  com- 
fortless widowhood,  and  when  the  warfare  was  over  it  flung  its 
heaven-born  light  athwart  the  sunless  sea.  What  would  her  life 
have  been  without  it?    What  would  my  life  be  in  its  absence? 

As  these  tender  reflections  passed  in  rapid  succession  through 
my  mind  I  recalled  the  following  poem,  written  some  years 
ago  by  George  P.  Morris,  and  I  here  reproduce  it  because  of 
its  sacred  sentiment: 


Four  Years  in  Asheville,  and  More  301 


MY  MOTHER'S  BIBLE 

This  book  is  all  that's  left  me  now; 

Tears  will  unbidden  start; 
With  faltering  lips  and  throbbing  brozv 

I  press  it  to  my  heart. 

For  many  generations  past 

Here  is  our  family  tree; 
My  mother's  hand  this  Bible  pressed, 

She  dying  gave  it  me. 

Ah,  well  do  I  remember  those 
Whose  names  these  records  bear; 

Who,  round  the  hearthstone,  used  to  close 
After  the  evening  prayer 

And  read  of  what  these  pages  said 
In  tones  my  heart  would  thrill; 

Though  they  are  with  the  silent  dead, 
Here  are  they  with  me  still! 

My  father  read  this  precious  book 

To  brothers,  sisters  dear; 
How  calm  was  my  sweet  mother's  look, 

Who  loved  God's  Word  to  hear. 

Her  angel  face,  I  see  it  yet! 

What  thronging  memories  come! 
Again  that  little  group  is  met 

Within  the  walls  of  home. 

Thou  truest  friend  man  ever  knew, 

Thy  constancy  I've  tried; 
When  all  were  false  I've  found  thee  true, 

My  counselor  and  guide. 

The  mines  of  earth  no  treasures  give 

That  could  this  volume  buy, 
In  teaching  me  the  way  to  live 

It's  taught  me  how  to  die. 


Chapter  XXI 

My  First  General  Conference  and 
Adieu  to  Holston 

In  May,  1890,  the  General  Conference  met  in  St.  Louis, 
Missouri.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  looked  upon  a  body 
of  that  character.  It  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  see  and  hear 
the  great  leaders  of  the  Church.  I  looked  at  them  with  won- 
der and  sized  them  up  as  they  passed  in  review  before  me. 

In  addition  to  the  Bishops  I  have  already  mentioned  I  saw 
Bishop  Granbery,  the  St.  John  of  the  Episcopal  College. 
Scholarly,  polished,  mild-mannered,  evangelical  and  unobtru- 
sive, he  was  one  of  the  most  lovable  men  in  the  Church.  And 
he  was  also  a  man  of  intellectual  parts,  though  not  a  towering 
preacher. 

Bishop  Hargrove  was  a  man  of  fine  appearance;  educated, 
business-like,  amiable  and  the  soul  of  courtesy.  He  was  a  good 
presiding  officer  and  a  sensible  preacher,  but  possessed  none  of 
the  attractions  of  the  orator.  His  preaching  was  solid  and 
substantial,  but  not  strikingly  original. 

Bishop  Hendrix  struck  me  as  a  man  of  impressive  person- 
ality, robust  in  body,  forceful  in  mind,  thoroughly  equipped, 
progressive  and  an  indomitable  student.  As  a  preacher  he  is 
now  numbered  among  our  great  men,  an  ideal  presiding  offi- 
cer and  to  the  casual  observer  a  little  austere  and  self-assertive. 

Bishop  Duncan  looked  effeminate.    His  face  was  that  of  the 


My  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Hoist  on    303 

cultured  gentleman  and  his  manner  was  nervous  and  irri- 
tating. In  the  chair  he  was  often  sharp  and  rasping;  in  the 
pulpit  he  was  eloquent  and  rather  attractive ;  in  the  private 
circle  he  was  as  gentle  and  tender  as  a  woman. 

Bishop  Galloway  was  even  then,  though  young,  the  master 
spirit  in  the  pulpit.  He  had  a  most  vivacious  face,  a  magnetic 
manner,  good  attainments  and  a  matchless  orator.  He  easily 
became  the  most  popular  preacher  among  his  generation  of 
Bishops. 

Bishop  Key  impressed  me  as  a  man  of  great  saintliness  of 
life  and  character,  of  good  intellectual  parts,  a  deeply  spiritual 
nature  and  an  accurate  knowledge  of  practical  affairs. 

These  with  the  members  of  the  older  panel  filed  into  Cen- 
tenary Church  and  occupied  the  rostrum  the  morning  that  the 
General  Conference  opened. 

On  the  floor  were  some  striking  characters.  Dr.  A.  S.  An- 
drews, Dr.  John  E.  Edwards,  Dr.  A.  G.  Haygood,  Dr.  R.  N. 
Sledd,  Dr.  John  J.  Tigert,  Dr.  Warren  A.  Candler,  Dr.  E.  E. 
Hoss,  Dr.  E.  E.  Wiley,  Dr.  Paul  Whitehead,  Dr.  A.  Coke 
Smith  and  scores  of  others  too  numerous  to  mention.  In  the 
main  it  was  a  strong  body  of  men. 

The  conference  soon  got  down  to  business  and  many  of 
these  leaders  began  to  figure  in  the  proceedings  of  the  session, 
and  I  had  an  opportunity  to  hear  them.  But  as  I  became 
more  familiar  with  them  in  public  and  in  private  I  was  more 
and  more  impressed  with  the  fact  that,  after  all,  they  were  only 
good  Methodist  preachers,  and  not  so  far  removed  in  their 
greatness  from  ordinary  mortals. 

Distance  always  lends  enchantment  to  the  view,  and  men  do 
not  tower  up  so  high  when  you  get  close  to  them  and  measure 
them  with  men  of  their  kind.  As  a  result,  while  I  have  ever 
had  the  highest  appreciation  of  our  leading  men,  I  diminished 


304  The  Story  of  My  Life 

very  considerably  my  innate  disposition  to  worship  at  their 
shrines  as  ideal  heroes.  That  General  Conference  disabused 
my  mind  of  a  great  many  of  its  preconceived  fancies  and  in- 
vested me  with  ideas  of  less  grandeur  and  sublimity  in  my 
estimate  of  great  men. 

I  esteemed  it  a  wonderful  privilege  to  see  and  hear  our 
English  representative,  Dr.  J.  J.  Waller  of  the  Wesleyan 
Church.  He  was  a  credit  to  the  splendid  body  whose  greet- 
ings he  brought.  I  was  woefully  disappointed  in  the  fraternal 
delegates  from  the  Northern  Methodist  Church.  Dr.  Bristol, 
now  one  of  their  Bishops,  was  the  clerical  representative,  and 
he  was  an  airy,  volatile  sort  of  an  orator,  with  inordinate  self- 
esteem.  When  Bishop  Keener  responded  to  the  young  man 
and  trimmed  his  comb  so  effectually,  while  it  was  almost  a 
violation  of  the  proprieties  of  the  occasion,  I  enjoyed  it  as  one 
of  the  most  interesting  episodes  of  the  conference.  When 
Governor  Patterson  of  Pennsylvania,  their  lay  representative, 
spoke,  it  was  a  very  prosy  and  commonplace  performance. 

When  the  memorials  were  introduced  and  referred  I  thought 
the  Church  would  be  destroyed.  The  changes  suggested  in 
our  economy  were  radical  and  revolutionary.  Of  course  I  had 
an  idea  that  coming  from  great  men  and  leading  conferences, 
they  would  all  be  reported  favorably  and  the  most  of  them 
adopted.  I  was  confident  that  there  would  be  but  little  of  the 
Church  left  by  the  time  that  General  Conference  was  through 
with  it.  But  imagine  my  pleasant  surprise  when  the  Com- 
mittee on  Revisals  began  to  make  their  daily  reports  "non- 
concurring"  in  nine-tenths  of  all  those  wild  memorials.  So  I 
soon  found  that  the  Church  was  safe,  and  it  greatly  relieved 
my  fears  and  anxieties. 

When  the  time  for  electing  Bishops  came  the  interest  grew 
intense.    We  were  to  elect  but  two.    The  first  ballot  was  taken 


I  ~y  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Holston    305 

and  it  was  counted  publicly.  Atticus  G.  Haygood  was  elected. 
He  had  been  elected  at  Nashville  eight  years  before,  but  de- 
clined ordination.  This  time  he  accepted  and  became  one  of 
our  Bishops.  The  next  ballot  resulted  in  no  election,  but  Dr. 
O.  P.  Fitzgerald,  Dr.  R.  N.  Sledd  and  Dr.  David  Morton  were 
in  the  lead.  The  next  time  Dr.  Fitzgerald  was  elected  and 
the  agony  was  over.  I  witnessed  their  ordination  and  the 
ceremony  deeply  impressed  me.  That  General  Conference 
changed  the  boundaries  of  Holston,  taking  from  it  the  Western 
North  Carolina  territory  and  made  another  conference  in  the 
old  North  State.  Holston  opposed  the  action,  but  it  availed 
nothing. 

This  left  me  a  member  of  the  Western  North  Carolina  Con- 
ference, very  much  against  my  will,  and  I  at  once  resolved  to 
transfer  out  of  it.  After  I  returned  home  I  had  a  letter  from 
Bishop  Key,  who  resided  at  Fort  Worth,  Texas,  asking  me  to 
transfer  to  Texas.  I  took  the  matter  under  advisement  and 
in  the  course  of  the  summer  I  determined  to  comply  with  his 
request.  I  had  always  wanted  to  come  to  Texas  since  my 
meeting,  in  my  early  ministry,  with  Rev.  Fred  Allen  of  the 
Texas  Conference,  in  Jasper,  Georgia.  But  when  my  letter 
reached  Fort  Worth  the  Bishop  had  gone  to  Missouri  to  in- 
spect the  work  up  there,  as  he  was  to  hold  those  conferences. 
It  followed  him  and  he  received  it  in  Kansas  City,  Missouri. 
The  next  I  heard  from  him  he  wrote  me  that  he  needed  me 
there  and  wanted  me  to  go  to  Centenary  Church  in  that  city, 
and  hoped  that  I  would  not  resist  his  desire  to  have  me.  I 
had  not  then  learned  how  to  resist  the  authorities  of  the 
Church,  and  have  never  learned  it.  So  somewhat  against  my 
will  to  Kansas  City  I  went. 

I  was  sorry  to  bid  Holston  adieu.  It  was  the  land  of  my 
birth  and  the  scene  of  my  ministry  thus  far.       I  had  been 


306  The  Story  of  My  Life 

treated  beyond  my  deserts,  and  had  filled  its  leading  appoint- 
ments, and  they  were  still  open  to  me ;  but  it  seemed  that 
Providence  was  ordering  otherwise.  Every  spot  in  that  hill 
country  was  dear  to  me,  and  my  attachment  to  many  of  its 
members  was  tender  and  abiding.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to 
sever  ties  so  sacred  and  try  my  fortunes  in  a  strange  land. 
And  if  I  had  known  then  what  I  afterwards  learned  in  the 
Southwest  Missouri  Conference,  I  doubt  if  the  change  had 
been  made,  if  left  to  me.  It  was  so  different  from  my  experi- 
ence and  association  in  dear  old  Holston !  Her  men  were  so 
natural  and  full  of  inspiration.  I  will  here  mention  a  few 
of  them. 

Rev.  John  M.  McTeer  was  easily  the  field-preacher  of  the 
conference.  He  was  large  and  rugged  in  person,  gifted  with 
natural  powers  of  declamation,  a  voice  of  marvelous  sweetness 
and  far-reaching  compass  and  a  Presiding  Elder  of  the  old- 
time  school.  He  served  in  that  office  longer  than  any  member 
of  the  body.  He  was  not  a  very  social  man  in  his  disposition, 
rather  grum  and  self-contained,  but  a  man  of  great  forceful- 
ness  of  character.  He  was  not  generally  popular  among  his 
brethren,  and  not  always  a  prudent  and  discreet  man.  Toward 
the  close  of  his  life  he  more  than  once  became  involved  in 
trouble.  There  were  those  who  disliked  him,  and  much  was 
made  of  his  weaknesses,  and  his  sun  went  down  somewhat 
dimmed.  But  in  many  respects  he  was  a  useful  minister  of 
the  gospel. 

Rev.  George  W.  Miles  was  a  man  of  great  physical  energy 
and  endurance,  not  largely  endowed  intellectually,  but  a  master 
of  details.  He  was  a  good  judge  of  men,  knew  his  limitations 
and  did  more  than  an  ordinary  business  on  ordinary  capital. 
He  had  a  pleasant  disposition,  strong  will,  persistent  determi- 
nation, and  he  knew  how  to  get  the  confidence  of  his  brethren 


My  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Holston    307 

and  use  it  to  good  purpose.  His  weak  point  was  in  the  pulpit, 
but  he  made  an  untiring  and  useful  Presiding  Elder.  He 
loved  the  Church,  reared  a  good  family,  closed  out  a  successful 
ministry  and  died  in  the  triumphs  of  a  bright  faith. 

Rev.  Frank  Richardson  was  in  his  prime  in  my  day  in  the 
conference.  He  was  a  man  of  wiry  and  well-knit  physique, 
well  educated,  of  an  intense  temperament,  a  fine  mind  and  a 
preacher  of  splendid  parts.  He  is  one  of  the  few  men  whom 
I  have  known  in  my  life  to  take  a  second  growth  after  he  had 
passed  middle  manhood.  When  past  fifty  he  was  traveling 
an  obscure  circuit  and  had  but  little  influence  in  the  confer- 
ence. But  he  began  to  rise  and  inside  of  five  years  he  was 
one  of  the  formest  men  among  his  brethren,  and  from  that 
day  till  his  death  he  was  the  most  prominent  and  influential 
man  in  that  body.  He  lived  beyond  his  fourscore  years,  but 
he  was  active  in  body,  alert  in  mind  and  a  militant  leader  of 
the  hosts  of  Zion,  He  was  always  a  trifle  extreme,  even  a  little 
revolutionary,  and  somewhat  sensitive  in  nature ;  but  nobody 
ever  failed  to  know  his  mind  on  a  given  issue  and  his  honesty 
of  purpose  was  never  doubted  by  layman  or  minister.  He  was 
known  familiarly  as  "Uncle  Frank",  and  he  was  greatly  be- 
loved by  his  brethren.  His  life  was  one  of  consecration  and 
success. 

Rev.  R.  N.  Price  was  always  the  original  man  in  the  confer- 
ence. Somewhat  angular  in  person,  with  a  big  brain,  a  rugged 
face,  well-trained,  extensively  read,  a  crisp  writer,  a  unique 
preacher,  and  easily  one  of  the  most  interesting  men  I  have 
ever  known.  At  one  time  he  was  a  popular  and  successful 
pastor,  but  turned  aside  to  editorial  work,  taught  some  in  the 
colleges,  became  literary  in  his  habits,  and  he  is  now  the  his- 
torian of  his  conference.  His  sharp  and  incisive  mind  has  not 
always  held  a  perfect  equipoise,  and  now  and  then  he  has  gone 


308  The  Story  of  My  Life 

off  after  a  modern  cult  and  pursued  it  to  extreme  conclusions. 
That  such  a  brain  as  he  possesses,  with  its  originality  and 
curious  habits  of  inquiry,  has  been  a  bit  eccentric  and  peculiar 
is  not  a  matter  of  surprise.  But  "Dick  Price",  as  he  has  al- 
ways been  known,  has  left  his  mark  in  the  Holston  Conference, 
and  his  whole  life  has  been  one  of  purity  and  honor.  He  only 
lacked  a  very  little  of  being  a  great  man  in  his  position  in 
the  Church. 

Dr.  E.  E.  Wiley  I  have  already  mentioned,  but  he  is  entitled 
to  larger  notice.  As  a  preacher  he  stood  in  the  front  rank, 
not  in  his  oratory  and  eloquence,  but  in  his  clearness  of  per- 
ception, his  grasp  of  his  subject,  in  his  distinctness  of  utter- 
ance and  his  masterful  diction.  He  was  for  nearly  half  a 
century  Presdent  of  Emory  and  Henry  College,  and  more 
young  men  passed  through  his  hands  than  any  other  one  man 
in  that  section  of  country.  He  was  never  in  charge  of  a  pas- 
torate, but  he  was  always  an  active  participant  in  the  pro- 
ceedings of  tb~;  conference.  He  was  a  Northern  man  by  birth 
and  education,  but  in  his  prejudices  he  became  one  of  the 
most  intense  Southern  men  among  us.  And  this  brings  me 
to  an  incident  characteristic  of  him. 

He  was  educated  in  Wesleyan  University  at  Middleton,  Con- 
necticut. When  he  graduated  he  came  South  and  accepted  a 
professorship  at  Emory  and  Henry.  Just  as  he  entered  the 
university  the  late  Bishop  Gilbert  Haven  went  out  of  it  into 
the  active  work  of  the  ministry  and  became  a  rampant  aboi  - 
tionist.  Just  after  the  war  he  was  elected  to  the  Episcopacy 
and  was  located  in  Atlanta,  Georgia.  He  believed  in  negro 
equality,  the  intermarriage  of  the  races  and  such  vagaries. 
He  and  Dr.  Wiley  never  met  in  their  Ives,  but  they  often  ex- 
changed public  compliments.  The  Doctor  had  no  earthly  use 
for  Bishop  Gilbert  Haven;  and  I  heard  him  more  than  once 


MISS  SNOW  M.  RANKIN 

TRAINED   NURSE 


My  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Holston    309 

on  the  conference  floor  advise  our  preachers  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him,  not  even  to  recognize  him.  He  thought  it  was 
An  insult  to  the  South  for  the  Northern  Church  to  send  him 
among  us  with  his  ultra  views  on  the  negro  question. 

While  I  was  stationed  in  Knoxville  Dr.  N.  G.  Taylor  in- 
vited me  to  take  tea  with  his  family  one  evening,  and  when  I 
entered  the  house  he  introduced  me  to  Bishop  Haven.  Had  I 
known  that  he  was  there  maybe  I  would  not  have  accepted 
the  invitation.  Dr.  Wiley  had  filled  me  with  prejudice.  The 
Bishop  was  a  stockily-built  man,  podgy  and  ungainly.  He  had 
a  large  head  covered  with  short  reddish-gray  hair  and  a  bright, 
sparkling  face.  He  grasped  my  hand  and  received  me  with 
much  cordiality.  I  found  him  affable  and  delightful  in  per- 
sonal intercourse.  He  had  been  everywhere,  and  he  had  seen 
everything,  and  he  seemed  to  know  all  that  there  was  to  be 
known.  I-  had  the  evening  of  my  life  with  him.  As  he  bade 
me  good-bye  he  held  my  hand  and  said : 

"How  is  my  old  friend  Dr.  Wiley?  I  have  never  met  him, 
but  I  have  known  him  all  my  life.  He  and  myself  have  always 
been  on  opposite  sides  of  questions,  but  I  have  great  respect 
for  him.     But  he  does  not  like  me." 

I  told  him  of  the  Doctor,  and  he  continued : 

"I  was  up  at  Glade  Springs  the  other  day,  four  miles  above 
Emory,  and  I  came  very  nearly  walking  down  to  see  Wiley, 
but  I  feared  that  my  visit  would  not  be  welcome.  I  wanted 
to  tell  him  that  three  months  ago  I  was  in  Africa,  and  one  hot 
Sunday  morning  I  gathered  a  few  straggling  flowers  and 
walked  three  miles  into  the  country  to  a  lone  graveyard  and 
found  the  grave  of  Mary  Wiley  Gardener,  put  the  flowers  on 
it  and  bowed  my  head  in  gratitude  for  the  gift  of  that  noble 
woman  who  died  a  martyr  to  our  Church  away  over  there  in 


3*o  The  Story  of  My  Life 

the  long  ago.  I  wanted  to  tell  Wiley  about  it.  I  will  ask 
you  to  do  it  for  me  the  next  time  you  see  him." 

A  few  weeks  after  that  I  met  Dr.  Wiley  and  told  him  I  had 
a  message  from  Bishop  Gilbert  Haven  for  him.  He  looked 
astonished  and  said : 

"What  word  did  he  want  to  send  me?  I  care  nothing  about 
him.  And  I  am  surprised  that  you  took  tea  with  him."  Our 
preachers  ought  to  let  him  severely  alone." 

I  told  him  the  Bishop  said  that  he  had  come  very  nearly 
calling  to  see  him  a  few  weeks  before.    The  old  Doctor  said: 

"Well,  I  am  glad  that  he  did  not  come." 

But  I  said  to  him,  listen  to  the  message,  that  it  was  inter- 
esting. Then  I  proceeded  to  give  it  to  him  in  the  Bishop's 
language.  He  listened  attentively  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
he  said: 

"I  wish  he  had  come.  I  would  take  anybody  into  my  home 
and  heart  who  would  walk  three  miles  through  an  African 
sun  to  put  flowers  on  the  grave  of  my  sister  Mary.  She  was 
the  purest  saint  God  ever  gave  to  the  Church.  I  wish  Gilbert 
Haven  had  called  to  see  me." 

After  all  his  prejudice  was  only  on  the  surface,  and  when 
brushed  away  it  amounted  to  nothing. 

Rev.  W.  W.  Bayes  at  one  time  gave  promise  of  a  ministry 
somewhat  like  that  of  Dr.  Munsey,  but  he  did  not  reach  that 
towering  height  of  the  great  mountain  orator.  He  had  a  bril- 
liant mind,  however,  not. systematically  trained,  but  remarkable 
in  its  poetic  gift  and  in  its  dazzling  imagination.  He  was  for 
a  long  time  one  of  the  star  preachers  of  the  conference,  an 
earnest,  devout  man,  full  of  faith  and  eminently  useful  in  his 
active  days  in  the  Church.  Personally  he  was  a  small  man 
with  a  large  head,  a  swarthy  face  and  a  nervous  temperament. 


My  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Holston    311 

His  matured  life  was  not  the  fulfillment  of  the  expectation 
inspired  by  his  extraordinary  beginning,  but  it  was  well  that 
such  was  not  the  case.  A  great  genius  in  the  pulpit  is  not 
as  useful  as  the  man  of  lesser  gifts  and  larger  consecration. 

Rev.  J.  S.  Burnett  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  natural  gifts, 
but  he  turned  aside  from  the  ministry  in  early  life  for  business 
pursuits,  and  in  later  life  when  he  retraced  his  steps  he  was 
too  far  advanced  ever  to  make  the  preacher  he  would  have 
become  had  he  continued  from  the  beginning.  But  he  had 
large  endowments  and  he  was  bright  and  witty  and  popular. 
Occasionally  he  would  preach  a  sermon  of  marvelous  compass 
and  splendid  reaches,  but  he  often  fell  below  his  ability  in  the 
pulpit.  He  was  susceptible  to  moods  and  once  in  awhile  he 
would  become  morbid,  but  he  was  a  good  and  true  man  and 
left  his  impression  on  the  conference.  He  reached  a  ripe  old 
age  and  died  in  great  peace. 

Rev.  James  A.  Burrow  is  one  of  the  younger  men  of  the 
conference,  but  he  was  prominent  a  few  years  before  I  severed 
my  relation  with  that  body.  He  had  a  boyish  face  and  a  boyish 
voice  in  the  pulpit,  but  his  sermons  would  have  done  credit  to 
a  man  of  forty.  He  was  exceedingly  bright,  catchy,  eloquent 
and  direct  in  his  preaching.  While  I  was  at  Chattanooga  I 
had  him  preach  for  me  one  night,  and  he  electrified  the  audi- 
ence. Old  Sister  Jordan,  a  very  enthusiastic  and  impulsive 
woman,  rushed  around  to  the  altar  and  pressed  her  way  up  to 
him  while  a  great  many  were  shaking  hands  with  him  and 
exclaimed : 

"I  wanted  to  shake  hands  with  that  young  brother.  I  thank 
God  that  I  have  lived  to  see  the  day  when  that  Scripture  is 
fulfilled :  r-  'Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  hast  thou 
ordained  strength'." 

It  created  a  ripple.     Dr.  Burrow  is  still  one  of  the  leading 


312  The  Story  of  My  Life 

men  of  that  conference.     He  is  beyond  the  average,  by  far, 
as  a  preacher. 

Rev.  R.  G.  Waterhouse  came  into  the  conference  a  few 
years  after  I  did.  I  was  at  a  District  Conference  at  Kingston, 
Roane  County,  in  the  summer  of  1876,  and  young  Waterhouse 
was  a  lay  delegate.  He  and  myself  took  a  walk  one  evening 
and  he  told  me  of  his  purpose  to  enter  the  ministry  and  advised 
with  me  about  going  to  school.  I  told  him  by  all  means  to  go 
to  Hiwassee  College  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  then  go  to 
Emory  and  Henry  and  finish  and  he  would  be  ready  for  the 
conference,  and  he  took  my  advice.  I  watched  his  progress 
and  development  with  interest.  He  entered  the  conference, 
soon  took  high  rank,  filled  its  leading,  appointments,  served 
for  years  as  President  of  Emory  and  Henry,  and  in  May,  1910, 
at  the  General  Conference  in  Asheville,  I  helped  to  elect  him 
one  of  our  Bishops.  He  is  a  large  man  physically  and  intel- 
lectually and  gives  promise  of  making  a  great  Bishop  in  the 
Church  of  God. 

Rev.  Joe  Haskew  was  one  of  the  most  noted  circuit  riders 
and  Presiding  Elders  in  the  conference.  When  I  knew  him 
he  was  an  old  man  and  we  called  him  Uncle  Joe.  He  was 
tall,  bony  and  had  a  shambling  gait.  His  face  was  smooth 
and  had  never  known  a  beard  or  a  razor.  He  had  a  withered 
look.  He  was  bowlegged.  Dr.  Lafferty  once  said  of  him  that 
he  had  traveled  circuits  throughout  Holston  so  long  and  con- 
tinuously that  his  legs  were  as  crooked  as  pothooks;  and  it 
was  measurably  true.  He  was  a  fine  preacher  of  the  old  type, 
had  a  fine  sense  of  humor  and  could  always  hold  his  own  in 
any  circle.  He  was  a  devoutly  religious  man.  Once  he  was 
on  his  way  through  the  country  to  an  appointment,  and  on  the 
roadside  he  saw  some  men  shoveling  dirt  and  throwing  up  an 
embankment.    He  said  to  them: 


My  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Holston    313 

"You  men  are  violating-  the  Sabbath.  You  had  better  quit 
and  go  with  me  to  Church." 

One  of  them  told  him  that  they  were  preparing  a  pool  for 
a  baptizing  that  evening,  that  it  was  a  case  of  taking  the  ass 
out  of  the  ditch  on  Sunday.  Uncle  Joe  saw  his  opening  and 
as  quick  as  lightning  he  replied : 

"It  seems  to  me  that  instead  of  taking  the  ass  out  of  the 
ditch  you  are  getting  ready  to  throw  him  in." 

And  he  clucked  to  his  horse  and  rode  on. 

Rev.  Carroll  Long  was  one  of  the  choicest  spirits  in  the  con- 
ference. He  had  one  of  the  most  transparent  faces  into 
which  I  ever  looked  and  his  character  was  beautiful  in  its 
spirituality.  As  a  preacher  he  was  doctrinal,  evangelistic  and 
inspiring.  He  was  as  gentle  as  a  woman  in  his  disposition 
and  as  guileless  as  a  child  in  his  nature.  He  was  deservedly 
popular,  and  for  years  was  a  delegate  to  the  General  Con- 
ference. He  had  great  powers  of  absorption.  He  could  hear 
a  sermon  or  read  a  good  book  and  rework  its  substance  into 
his  own  discourses  and  give  to  the  result  the  stamp  of  his 
own  originality.  I  once  heard  him  say  that  at  the  General 
Conference  he  made  it  a  point  to  hear  fifteen  or  twenty  good 
sermons  and  from  them  he  extracted  material  enough  to  last 
him  nearly  through  a  quadrennium.  He  served  the  Church 
with  great  efficiency,  usually  on  districts,  and  in  the  end  he 
had  a  glorious  translation. 

But  why  dwell  longer  on  those  old  Holston  heroes?  I  could 
write  a  volume  and  then  leave  the  records  of  many  of  them 
untouched.  These  few  samples  will  give  my  readers  some  idea 
of  them  as  a  class.  Nio  other  conference  of  my  knowledge 
can  boast  of  so  many  strikingly  outstanding  men.  They  have 
always  been  the  true  sons  of  nature  and  they  stand  closely  re- 
lated to  their  native  mountain  scenery  with  its  rippling  waters, 


3!4  The  Story  of  My  Life 

its  picturesque  foothills  and  its  bright  Italian  skies.  Bishop 
Wightman  once  remarked  that  the  Holston  preacher  could  not 
be  otherwise  than  eloquent  and  ornate;  that  his  natural  en- 
vironment was  conducive  to  no  other  sort  of  pulpit  product. 

When  I  awoke  and  found  myself  in  Kansas  City  I  realized 
that  I  was  in  a  new  world.  It  had  grown  into  a  place  of  nearly 
half  a  million  within  the  few  years  of  an  ephemeral  boom 
period.  There  had  never  been  anything  like  it  in  the  develop- 
ment of  a  municipality.  Its  population  had  converged  from 
the  four  quarters  of  the  United  States,  and  I  doubt  if  such  a 
mixture  of  peoples  ever  entered  into  the  composite  life  of  a 
single  community.  They  had  all  gone  there  to  make  money; 
some  of  them  had  succeeded  and  thousands  of  them  had  ut- 
terly failed.  There  was  not  much  stability  or  solidarity  in 
their  character  and  civilization.  And  when  I  reached  the  city 
in  the  fall  of  1890  the  boom  had  exploded;  thousands  of  empty 
houses  were  everywhere  in  sight,  thousands  of  people  had  left 
and  thousands  of  those  remaining  were  out  of  employment. 
The  Churches  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the  people ;  they  had 
become  congested  with  members,  and  then  the  reflex  had  left 
many  of  them  pressed  financially  and  depleted  in  numbers. 
There  was  a  spirit  of  restlessness  and  discouragement  in  all 
the  congregations. 

I  had  charge  of  Centenary  Church  in  a  district  midway  be- 
tween the  residence  section  and  the  business  district.  I  found 
a  membership  of  a  few  hundred.  Among  them  were  several 
strong  business  men,  supposedly,  but  they  were  burdened  with 
heavy  obligations.  It  was  a  difficult  matter  for  them  to  keep 
the  finances  of  the  Church  to  date.  There  was  no  evangelistic 
spirit  among  them.  All  that  I  could  do  was  to  hold  them 
together  and  await  more  favorable  conditions.  Then,  too, 
Kansas  City  was  the  boldest  and  most  unblushing  place  in  its 


My  First  General  Conference  and  Adieu  to  Holston    315 

wickedness  I  had  ever  seen.  Saloons  and  low  theaters  in- 
fested the  place.  Churches  were  not  generally  respected ;  and 
a  preacher  was  no  more  than  any  other  man.  His  cloth 
amounted  to  nothing.  If  he  was  able  to  attract  attention  by 
the  sheer  force  of  his  intellect  and  ability,  he  was  known  in 
the  city ;  otherwise  he  was  a  notch  on  a  stick. 

I  looked  over  the  field  of  my  operation,  and  it  was  more 
limited,  even  in  the  city,  than  if  I  had  been  in  a  small  town  or 
a  rural  district.  My  environs  were  largely  restricted  to  my 
own  congregation.  I  saw  that  I  had  a  problem  on  my  hands. 
But  I  determined  to  tackle  the  job  with  some  vigor.  I  did 
not  intend  to  live  in  the  midst  of  such  seething  wickedness, 
even  in  Kansas  City,  without  lifting  up  my  voice  and  crying 
aloud.  I  waited,  however,  until  I  had  gotten  my  bearings 
and  had  somewhat  won  the  confidence  and  attention  of  my 
own  people.  Then  I  opened  a  fusillade.  The  daily  papers 
there  were  sensational  in  the  last  degree.  The  reporters  were 
on  the  lookout  for  something  spectacular,  and  they  sought  out 
my  night  services. 

They  were  not  disappointed,  and  it  was  not  long  until  my 
name  was  posted  in  flaming  headlines  every  Monday  morning. 
They  published  every  word  that  I  uttered  and  gave  to  some 
of  them  such  trimmings  as  suited  their  purposes.  Editorially 
they  waded  into  me  and  gibed  me  with  their  wit  and  reparte, 
and  sometimes  they  would  treat  me  with  serious  consideration. 
But  I  did  not  let  up.  Each  Sunday  night  my  house  was 
crowded  and  I  became  known  in  Kansas  City,  if  I  did  nothing 
else  while  there. 

During  the  most  of  the  entire  winter  I  continued  to  expose 
the  rottenness  of  the  city  life  and  the  prurient  type  of  its 
nightly  entertainments  and  debauchery.  We  certainly  had 
hot  times   at   Centenary   Church.     But  it  was   like  shooting 


316  The  Story  of  My  Life 

gTains  of  sand  into  the  volume  of  the  muddy  waters  of  the 
sluggish  Missouri  River  that  dragged  its  slow  length  by 
the  city. 

I  closed  out  the  first  year  in  advance  of  what  I  found  it, 
and  my  reports  were  creditable.  However,  they  were  not 
satisfactory  to  me.  My  people  had  in  the  main  stood  by  me 
and  given  me  their  support,  for  many  of  them  were  true  and 
devoted  Christian  men  and  women.  When  I  returned  the 
second  year  the  boom  was  just  about  exhausted ;  a  number  of 
my  business  men  were  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy.  They 
fixed  my  salary  below  a  living  point,  but  they  finally  recon- 
sidered it  and  did  better.  But  they  discouraged  me  by  their 
own  pessimism  and  their  failure  to  respond  to  my  efforts  to 
lead  them  out  into  lines  of  progress.  I,  therefore,  determined 
to  do  my  level  best  that  year  and  then  retire  from  the  job. 
I  saw  that  to  remain  under  the  circumstances  was  to  butt  my 
head  against  a  stone  wall ;  and  it  has  always  been  my  principle 
either  to  do  something  worthy  of  my  effort  as  a  minister  or 
seek  another  field  where  results  are  possible. 

So  as  the  spring  approached  Bishop  Hargrove  was  in  Kansas 
City  and  he  asked  me  if  it  was  my  purpose  to  remain  in  that 
conference  permanently.  I  told  him  it  certainly  was  not;  that 
I  intended  to  close  out  my  part  of  it  that  year.  He  told  me 
that  suited  him  exactly;  that  he  had  the  whole  empire  of 
Texas  on  his  hand  and  he  wanted  some  new  men,  and  that 
he  would  put  me  down  in  his  notebook  and  throw  me  into 
the  Texas  work  the  next  fall.  I  labored  on  like  a  Trojan  and 
made  some  little  progress. 

That  conference  met  early  in  September  and  Bishop  Gallo- 
way presided.  He  wanted  to  take  me  back  to  Holston,  but  I 
told  him  I  was  booked  for  Texas.  He  asked  me  what  point 
in  Texas.     I  told  him  no  special  point,  that  I  was  simply  in 


My  First  General  Conference  mid  Adieu  to  Holston    317 

the  hands  of  Bishop  Hargrove  and  he  would  place  me  when 
he  held  the  conferences,  and  that  I  wanted  him  to  transfer 
me  to  any  one  of  the  Texas  Conference.  He  said  that  he 
had  just  had  a  letter  from  the  Bishop  asking  that  I  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  Northwest  Texas  Conference.  When  he  saw  I  was 
determined  he  read  me  out  transferred  to  the  Northwest  Texas 
Conference.  I  remained  in  Kansas  City  until  the  sixteenth  of 
November  and  on  that  date  I  had  a  telegram  from  Bishop 
Hargrove  to  go  at  once  and  take  charge  of  Shearn  Memorial 
Church,  Houston.  And  I  at  once  headed  for  Texas.  That 
was  in  the  fall  of  1892. 


Chapter  XXII 

The  Beginning  of  My  Experience 
in  Texas 

Twenty  years  ago  I  came  to  Texas  and  dedicated  my  life 
to  the  work  of  the  Church  in  this  great  empire  of  the  South- 
west. I  did  not  come  ignorantly  or  aimlessly,  but  intelli- 
gently. I  had  been  a  reader  of  the  Texas  Christian  Advocate 
for  years  and  I  was  also  familiar  with  the  daily  papers  of  the 
State.  Especially  the  year  previous  to  my  coming  did  I  read 
the  Dallas  Daily  News,  the  Houston  Post  and  the  Austin 
Statesman.  These  put  me  in  touch  with  the  resources,  the 
products  and  the  politics  of  the  State.  I  read  with  great  in- 
terest the  sensational  campaign  between  Governor  Hogg  and 
Judge  Clark  and  this  struggle  gave  me  some  idea  of  the  po- 
litical issues  then  dominant  in  the  public  mind. 

In  addition  to  these  sources  of  information  I  had  copies  of 
the  printed  minutes  of  the  five  Texas  Annual  Conferences, 
and  from  these  I  learned  a  great  deal  about  the  affairs  of  the 
Church  and  its  marvelous  possibilities  and  outlook  in  this  great 
territory.  Therefore  when  I  reached  Texas  I  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  names  of  its  leading  men,  its  magnitude  and 
its  wonderful  resources. 

On  the  sixteenth  day  of  November  I  left  Kansas  City  for 
Houston,  and  a  fierce  blizzard  was  raging  all  over  that  section 
of  the  country.     The  winters  come  on  early  in  that  climate. 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  319 

I  had  on  heavy  underwear,  a  warm  winter  suit,  a  Kansas 
overcoat,  earmuffs  and  Arctic  overshoes.  Even  then  I  was 
none  too  comfortable. 

I  spent  Sunday  in  Pilot  Point  and  there  met  Uncle  Buck 
Hughes,  who  was  then  pastor.  From  thence  I  went  on  to  my 
destination,  and  when  I  arrived  in  Houston  on  Tuesday  morn- 
ing the  thermometer  was  ninety !  I  thought  I  would  melt 
before  my  lighter-weight  apparel  arrived.  There  was  no  evi- 
dence of  winter,  and  to  my  surprise  the  winter  never  did 
some.     The  geraniums  bloomed  in  the  yards  the  year  round. 

Houston  was  then  an  insignificant  city,  a  sort  of  an  over- 
grown town  with  but  few  public  improvements  and  no  paved 
streets.  The  business  houses  were  not  imposing,  and  when 
it  rained  the  mud  was  intolerable.  The  old  Buffalo  Bayou 
gave  forth  an  atmosphere  the  like  of  which  I  had  never  in- 
haled. It  dragged  its  slow  length  like  a  huge  serpent  through 
the  city  and  the  boats  continually  stirred  the  murky  waters.  It 
was  almost  stagnant  and  remained  such  until  some  booming 
freshet  swept  it  out  toward  the  Gulf.  The  fumes  constantly 
rising  from  it  gave  forth  in  odor  that  was  something  fierce. 
The  weeds  were  rank  along  the  most  of  the  streets,  and  the 
residences  mostly  sat  on  blocks.    It  was  a  crude-looking  town. 

The  house  into  which  we  moved  was  on  McKinney  Street, 
midway  between  Milam  and  Travis  Streets,  and  it  was  slightly 
higher  at  the  two  intersections  than  in  the  middle ;  and  this 
made  a  pond  ankle  deep  just  in  front  of  us.  That  night  the 
croaking  frogs  made  the  community  ring  with  their  discordant 
music.  I  had  run  down  in  health  again  and  only  weighed 
one  hundred  and  twenty-six  pounds,  and  I  remarked  to  my 
wife  as  we  sat  and  listened  to  those  frogs  that  we  had  just 
as  well  go  to  the  cemetery  and  purchase  a  lot;  that  she  would 
plant  me  there  before  the  end  of  a  quadrennium.    It  looked  to 


320  The  Story  of  My  Life 

me  like  one  of  the  most  unsanitary  and  disease-breading  places 
we  had  ever  lived. 

The  morning  I  arrived  I  repaired  to  the  old  Rice  Hotel,  and 
when  I  returned  from  the  breakfast  table  I  met  A.  G.  Howell 
and  other  representatives  of  my  Church  looking  for  me.  They 
gave  me  a  cordial  welcome,  took  me  to  several  of  the  leading 
business  places  and  introduced  me  to  many  of  our  people,  and 
then  delivered  me  over  to  the  hospitable  home  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  W.  B.  Chew. 

There  I  was  received  as  an  old-time  acquaintance  and  friend, 
though  they  had  never  heard  of  me  until  my  name  had  been 
read  out  to  them  at  the  recent  conference.  They  entertained 
me  until  my  family  arrived  a  few  days  later.  There  a  personal 
friendship  began  which  abides  to  this  good  day. 

How  tender  and  intimate  is  the  relation  that  exists  between 
a  Methodist  minister  and  his  people!  The  very  fact  that  the 
Church  vouches  for  his  character  and  standing  is  sufficient  to 
give  him  the  right  of  way  to  their  confidence  and  love  the 
moment  he  enters  upon  his  work  among  them,  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  he  is  in  reality  a  stranger  to  them.  Woe  betide 
the  minister  who  would  betray  such  confidence  and  prove  un- 
worthy of  such  love! 

The  following  Thursday  was  Thanksgiving  Day  and  service 
was  already  announced.  I  was  on  hand  and  a  good  congrega- 
tion greeted  me.  We  had  a  good  service,  and  at  its  close  they 
gave  me  a  royal  reception.  Scores  and  scores  of  them  grasped 
my  hand  and  bade  me  welcome.  I  saw  at  once  that  I  was  in 
the  house  of  my  friends,  though  not  one  of  them  had  ever 
seen  or  known  me  before. 

The  change  from  Kansas  City  to  Houston  was  as  marked 
socially  as  the  winter  seasons  of  the  two  places.  In  the  former 
the  people  were  cold,  distant  and  formal.     Even  in  pastoral 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  321 

work  I  had  found  it  more  business-like  than  cordial.  A  min- 
ister was  something  like  a  hired  man.  But  here  they  were 
warm,  open-hearted,  whole-souled  and  demonstrative. 

I  felt  like  I  had  dropped  from  the  regions  of  the  North  Pole 
with  its  snow  and  freeze  and  blizzard  into  the  temperature 
of  the  Tropics  with  its  birds  and  flowers  and  sunshine.  They 
were  the  sort  of  Methodists  whom  I  had  always  known  before 
I  crossed  the  "Father  of  Waters".  I  had  again  found  a  place 
where  a  preacher  was  a  brother  as  well  as  a  pastor,  and  where 
his  work  counted  for  something  as  an  asset  in  the  community, 
His  influence  and  personal  presence  stood  for  something,  even 
outside  his  own  congregation.  He  was  a  dominant  factor  in 
the  forces  that  enter  into  the  moral,  the  civic  and  the  religious 
life  of  the  people. 

I  never  felt  so  complacently  and  more  at  home  in  all  my 
life,  and  everything  in  my  mind  and  heart  spoke  up  and  com- 
manded me  to  place  myself  unreservedly  upon  their  altar  of 
service.     It  was  a  positive  luxury  to  obey  the  order. 

Shearn  Church  was  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  State.  It 
started  immediately  after  General  Houston  took  charge  of 
Santa  Anna  down  on  San  Jacinto  Bay  in  1836,  and  it  had 
grown  into  a  strong  congregation.  The  building  was  not  pre- 
possessing. It  was  a  substantial  brick,  whose  architecture  had 
intended  to  represent  a  Maltese  cross,  but  before  it  was 
started  a  stroke  of  economy  had  touched  the  builders  and  they 
had  chopped  off  the  upper  end  of  the  cross,  giving  to  the 
structure  an  unfinished  and  an  ill-shaped  effect.  But  for  sev- 
eral years  it  had  met  the  requirements  of  their  needs,  and  it 
had  grown  old-looking  and  somewhat  dilapidated. 

The  pulpit  platform  ran  almost  completely  across  the  back 
end  of  the  building  and  the  handsome  bird's-eye  maple  pipe 
organ  occupied  a  loft  considerably  above  the  pulpit.    The  audi- 


322  The  Story  of  My  Life 

torium  would  seat  in  the  neighborhood  of  six  hundred  people. 
The  first  Sunday  it  was  crowded,  and  I  saw  at  a  glance  that 
I  had  a  splendid  body  of  men  and  women.  They  represented 
all  classes  of  people,  including  strong  business  men,  working- 
men,  elderly  men  and  young  men.  And  before  me  were  as 
fine  a  class  of  good  women  as  ever  faced  a  minister. 

As  I  sat  in  the  pulpit  I  gazed  at  them,  and  for  the  moment 
studied  them  with  interest.  S.  M.  McAshan  looked  like  an  old 
Roman,  with  his  intelligent  face  indicative  of  thought,  punc- 
tuality and  great  orderliness.  T.  W.  House  looked  like  an 
Englishman,  sedate,  quiet,  observant  and  unobstrusive.  T. 
W.  Ford  had  the  appearance  of  a  Senator,  wise,  intellectual 
and  serious.  G.  W.  Schultz  was  alert,  quick  and  like  a  pleas- 
ant-mannered business  man.  Jacob  V.  Dealy  was  solid,  slow, 
steady  and  reliable.  A.  G.  Howell  and  W.  B.  Chew  reminded 
me  of  men  ready  to  do  things.  Judge  E.  P.  Hamblin  reminded 
me  of  a  polished  lawyer,  incisive  and  exacting.  W.  F.  Kraul 
was  full  of  music,  and  J.  M.  Cotton  carried  the  face  of  a  man 
careful  in  details  and  ready  for  any  word  or  work.  Charles 
Bering  looked  like  the  devout  German  that  I  always  found 
him  to  be  in  the  work  of  the  Church.  J.  M.  Frost  impressed 
me  as  a  man  who  had  gone  up  against  the  world  with  some 
force,  and  who  had  learned  from  experience  what  it  was  to 
appreciate  the  power  of  religion.  But  I  cannot  mention  them 
all,  for  their  names  are  legion.  In  my  four  years'  experience 
with  them  I  never  found  a  more  devoted  and  reliable  set  of 
people.  They  more  than  fulfilled  all  the  hopes  that  my  first 
contact  with  them  inspired. 

It  was  not  long  until  I  realized  that  we  not  only  needed 
more  room,  but  more  especially  the  house  needed  renovating 
as  well  as  enlarging.  So  the  first  thing  we  did  was  to  raise 
three  thousand  dollars  and  wipe  out  the  debt  on  the  property 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  323 

incurred  by  the  purchase  of  the  organ  and  needed  street  im- 
provement This  out  of  the  way,  I  was  ready  to  spring 
the  church  improvement.  My  leading  business  men  entered 
into  my  plans  heartily,  except  Brother  McAshan.  He  was  a 
very  cautious  and  calculating  man.  He  had  to  be  convinced 
before  you  could  move  him  out  of  his  groove  into  a  new  chan- 
nel of  enterprise.  But  before  we  had  gone  far  he  surrendered 
and  did  his  part  manfully.  The  enterprise  would  require  six 
thousand  dollars,  for  we  determined  to  add  the  missing  part  of 
the  cross  and  finish  the  original  design.  I  had  things  going 
my  way  and  was  getting  the  subscriptions  as  fast  as  I  could 
call  on  my  people. 

But  one  morning  I  received  a  shock.  My  Presiding  Elder 
came  into  my  office,  and  my  acquaintance  with  him  was  lim- 
ited. I  had  only  met  him  casually  a  time  or  two  and  knew  but 
little  of  him  as  a  man  or  a  preacher.  He  lived  several  miles 
from  the  city  on  a  farm  and  he  was  busy  out  there  and  with 
his  other  appointments,  and  I  had  seen  nothing  of  him.  His 
name  was  Rev.  E.  W.  Solomon.  He  had  just  preceded  me 
in  the.  pastorate  of  the  Church.  He  was  tall  in  person,  raw- 
boned  in  construction,  with  an  impetuous  manner,  a  large  nose 
and  mouth  and  a  voice  like  a  trumpet.     His  first  words  were: 

"I  understand,  sir,  that  you  are  preparing  to  raise  and  spend 
six  thousand  dollars  on  this  church  building." 

I  looked  at  him  in  astonishment  and  wondered  what  next! 
But  I  told  him  that  was  exactly  what  we  were  getting  ready 
to  do. 

"Then,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  shall 
oppose  the  enterprise,  sir.  We  do  not  need  it;  and,  besides, 
we  do  need  to  build  another  place  of  worship  in  the  old  Fair 
Ground  Addition." 

It  took  the  breath  out  of  me.     But  I  rallied  and  told  him 


324  The  Story  of  My  Life 

that  we  were  certainly  going  ahead  and  make  the  improve- 
ment, and  that  I  did  not  see  what  he  had  to  do  with  it.  I  right 
then  and  there  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  going  to  have 
a  hard  time  with  that  Presiding  Elder;  that  he  was  something 
new  under  the  sun  to  me. 

But  my  trouble  was,  I  did  not  know  Solomon  then  as  I  soon 
learned  to  know  him,  and  have  known  him  well  and  pleasantly 
through  all  the  years  since  then.  I  went  ahead,  collected  the 
money,  finished  the  job  and  it  was  beautiful,  with  its  new 
furniture  and  attractive  carpet.  We  invited  Bishop  Key  to 
dedicate  it  and  bad  arranged  for  Brother  Solomon  to  be  on 
hand  to  take  a  part  in  it.  I  had  not  seen  him  since  our  en- 
counter, and  did  not  know  how  he  still  felt.  But  on  Saturday 
before  the  dedication  I  stepped  into  the  auditorium  and  there 
stood  my  Elder  looking  at  the  new  church.  He  spoke  to  me 
pleasantly  and  said: 

"Well,  sir,  you  have  done  a  good  work.  It  is  beautiful,  and 
I  congratulate  you." 

That  made  me  warm  up  to  him,  and  ever  afterward  I  found 
him  to  be  a  man  of  big  heart,  outspoken  convictions,  impulsive 
in  his  speech  and  action,  sincere  and  clear  in  his  motives  and 
a  preacher  of  studious  habits  and  at  times  brilliant  in  his 
sermons.  All  that  is  necessary  in  Dr.  Solomon's  case  is  for 
you  to  know  him  and  get  close  to  him  and  his  brusque  exterior 
gives  way  to  as  good  and  kind  a  heart  as  beats  in  the  bosom 
of  any  man. 

Bishop  Key  preached  us  a  delightfully  spiritual  sermon,  and 
for  the  first  time  I  had  an  opportunity  to  meet  him  and  to 
know  him  personally.  And  during  all  these  twenty  years  in 
Texas  he  has  been  my  fast  and  faithful  friend  and  one  of  the 
truest  and  most  transparent  men  whom  it  has  been  my  privi- 
lege ever  to  know.     Since  then  I  have  been  with  him  much 


MISS  MARY  RUTH  RANKIN 

YOUNGEST  MEMBER  OF  THE  FAMILY 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  325 

and  seen  him  under  most  all  circumstances,  and  have  had  occa- 
sion to  study  him  in  the  many  interesting  phases  of  his  life 
and  character,  and  he  stands  in  my  esteem  the  ideal  man  of 
my  acquaintance. 

But  I  shall  have  more  to  say  of  him  in  the  course  of  my 
story,  and  for  the  present  will  turn  to  other  matters.  Having 
finished  and  dedicated  the  church,  we  were  ready  then  for  a 
forward  movement.  We  had  the  room  and  the  facilities,  and 
the  prospect  was  inviting. 

My  first  conference  was  at  Navasota,  presided  over  by 
Bishop  Hendrix,  and  the  members  of  that  body  were  cordial 
and  brotherly  toward  me.  There  I  met  the  Rev.  Seth  Ward 
and  cast  my  vote  for  him  as  a  delegate  to  the  General  Con- 
ference. Rev.  Joseph  Sears  was  prominent  in  that  body,  and 
a  truer  man  never  lived.  His  recent  death  gave  me  genuine 
sorrow,  for  he  was  always  my  fast  friend.  If  I  remember 
correctly  that  was  the  last  session  of  this  conference  that  the 
Rev.  I.  G.  John  ever  attended.  He  was  one  of  our  Missionary 
Secretaries  at  that  time.  He  had  been  prominent  in  that  body, 
for  a  great  many  years,  having  been  editor  of  the  Texas  Chris- 
tain  Advocate  through  the  period  of  its  struggle  to  keep  its 
head  above  the  water.  He  was  physically  a  small  man,  but 
possessed  of  good  ability,  and  a  preacher  of  clearness  and  deep 
spirituality.  He  died  the  following  year,  mourned  by  his 
brethren  and  loved  by  a  wide  circle  of  friends. 

During  my  pastorate  at  Shearn  I  had  for  associate  ministers 
most  excellent  brethren,  among  whom  was  that  rare  character 
and  unique  preacher,  the  Rev.  John  E.  Green.  Every  confer- 
ence has  some  member  who  stands  out  incomparable  in  some 
of  the  traits  and  qualities  of  his  personality  and  ministry,  and 
Brother  Green  is  that  man  in  the  Texas  Conference.  He  is 
very  tall  and  slender,  with  a  good  head  and  a  poetic  face,  and 


326  The  Story  of  My  Life 

a  style  of  ministry  all  his  own.  He  assumes  all  sorts  of  atti- 
tudes in  the  pulpit,  concentrates  in  his  sermons  a  greater 
variety  of  subject-matter,  and  is  one  of  the  best  read  men  in  his 
knowledge  of  the  letter  of  the  Scriptures  of  my  acquaintance. 
It  is  almost  a  show  sometimes  to  see  him  in  full  operation  in 
the  pulpit.  But  with  all  his  peculiarities  of  style  and  manner 
he  has  as  noble  a  heart  in  him  as  ever  throbbed,  and  he  is  also 
a  preacher  of  no  mean  parts.  As  a  revivalist,  especially  among 
railroadmen  and  the  stalwart  working  classes,  he  is  unsur- 
passed. He  is  one  of  the  purest  and  most  guileless  men  I 
have  ever  known. 

I  had  good  success  the  second  year  at  Shearn,  had  many 
accessions,  built  up  the  Sunday-school,  largely  increased  my 
Sunday  congregations  and  my  prayer-meetings  were  the  best 
I  have  ever  known. 

The  next  conference  met  at  Cameron,  and  Bishop  Hargrove 
presided.  He  was  a  superior  presiding  officer,  and  his  preach- 
ing was  instructive  and  edifying. 

My  third  year  was  bolder  and  more  aggressive.  I  arranged 
for  a  great  meeting  and  had  Sam  Jones  and  George  R.  Stuart 
to  conduct  it.  It  was  held  in  the  city  auditorium  and  was 
attended  by  immense  congregations.  Sam  Jones  did  some 
direct  preaching  and  stirred  the  city  considerably,  but  the 
meeting  was  not  so  fruitful  of  spiritual  results  as  the  one  at 
Chattanooga.  Brother  Stuart  remained  after  the  meeting 
closed  at  the  auditorium  and  gave  me  a  very  helpful  series  of 
meetings  in  the  Church. 

Gambling  was  open  and  above  board  in  the  city.  It  was  as 
public  as  the  Church  service  or  the  theater.  Grand  juries  paid 
no  attention  to  it,  and  the  officers  of  the  law  were  as  blind 
as  bats  in  daylight  to  it.  Crime  originated  in  those  dens,  and 
young  men  were  being  ruined  in  them,  and  several  murders 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  327 

occurred  in  them.  I  determined  to  make  war  on  them.  But  I 
determined  to  inform  myself  before  undertaking  the  conflict. 
I  knew  what  it  meant. 

So  I  threw  off  my  collar  and  tie,  put  on  some  working 
clothes  and  devoted  two  nights  to  an  investigation  of  them. 
I  had  no  difficulty  whatever.  Their  doors  were  open  and  un- 
guarded. Nobody  on  the  inside  noticed  any  one  entering  the 
place.  Every  den  was  crowded  and  they  were  numerous  along 
the  streets.  All  sorts  of  gaming  devices  were  provided  and 
every  form  of  gambling  in  operation.  I  got  the  street  number 
of  each  place,  the  names  of  the  games  played,  the  number  and 
names  of  those  who  were  the  owners  and  proprietors ;  and  by 
the  time  I  was  through  I  had  material  enough  to  stir  the  city. 

I  carefully  prepared  a  series  of  sermons  and  for  several 
Sunday  nights  I  opened  up  on  those  evil  institutions  with  some 
exceedingly  hot  stuff.  I  gave  locations  by  street  and  number ; 
I  called  names  of  men  in  charge  of  the  places,  told  of  the 
games  played,  of  the  drinking  and  the  debauchery,  pointed  out 
how  workingmen  were  fleeced  and  young  men  were  being 
ruined ;  and  the  Houston  Post,  then  edited  by  Judge  E.  P.  Hill, 
published  every  word  of  those  sermons  in  the  Monday  morning 
editions.  The  Post  then  was  a  paper  worthy  the  support  and 
patronage  of  moral  people. 

The  crusade  produced  a  profound  sensation  and  it  brought 
me  and  my  Church  work  into  prominence,  not  only  in  the  city, 
but  throughout  that  portion  of  the  State.  I  was  called  before 
the  grand  jury,  indictments  were  secured  and  many  of  the 
gamblers  fined  and  sent  to  jail  for  short  terms.  But  it  only 
slowed  down  the  business  and  made  it  more  careful ;  it  did 
not  put  a  permanent  check  upon  it.  It  was  too  firmly  rooted 
in  the  public  sentiment  of  the  place  and  in  the  habits  of  too 
many  people  for  any  single  effort  to  go  far  toward  remedying 


328  The  Story  of  My  Life 

the  prevailing  practice.  But  it  helped  to  introduce  the  forces 
that  finally  made  gambling  a  felony  in  Texas. 

That  summer  our  conference  for  the  Epworth  League  met 
in  St.  James  Church,  Galveston,  and  it  was  largely  attended 
by  the  young  people  and  most  of  the  preachers.  Seth  Ward 
was  our  Presiding  Elder,  and  one  of  the  best  I  had  ever  had. 
I  had  something  to  do  with  his  appointment  to  the  district. 
My  acquaintance  with  him  became  intimate  and  our  friend- 
ship confidential.  He  was  one  of  the  purest  and  worthiest  men 
of  his  day.  There  was  never  an  unclean  thing  in  him.  He 
was  naturally  a  man  of  solid  endowments,  consecutive  in  his 
thinking,  studious  in  his  habits,  serious  in  his  cast  of  mind, 
not  given  to  humor  or  levity,  and  gifted  in  his  powers  of 
reason.  His  correct  use  of  English  and  his  diction  were  mar- 
velous in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  was  not  a  college-bred  man. 
He  had  elements  of  greatness  and  his  personality  was  domi- 
nant and  commanding.  He  was  lovable  in  his  disposition  and 
positive  without  austerity.  To  know  him  was  to  give  him  the 
right  of  way  to  your  confidence.  He  was  present  at  this 
League  Conference. 

He  and  others  received  a  severe  shock  at  the  close  of  that 
gathering  by  reading  the  next  morning  in  the  Galveston  News 
an  article  under  the  head,  "Two  Clerical  Sports,  and  Their 
Episode  in  the  City".  The  article  called  no  names,  but  said 
they  were  both  prominent  ministers  from  the  interior,  one  a 
Presiding  Elder  and  the  other  a  station  preacher;  that  they 
were  left  over  by  the  League  Conference  and  had  put  in  the 
night  in  a  series  of  debaucheries;  that  they  had  slipped  from 
a  carriage  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  beat  the  hackman 
out  of  his  fare ;  that  he  had  them  arrested  and  the  matter  had 
leaked  out.  The  article  created  a  sensation  and  put  Metho- 
dists to  guessing. 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  329 

A  good  many  people  had  intimated  that  the  description 
fitted  Seth  Ward  and  myself!  He  brought  the  paper  to  my 
office  and  showed  it  to  me.  I  read  it  and  he  asked  me  who 
were  the  parties?  I  told  him  that  it  was  an  easy  matter  to 
locate  them.  We  both  agreed  that  they  were  E.  H.  Harman 
of  the  Brenham  District  and  W.  Wimberly  of  the  Brenham 
Station.  We  went  back  to  Galveston  and  made  a  slight  in- 
vestigation and  our  surmise  was  correct.  He  was  ordered 
by  Bishop  Keener  to  appoint  a  committee  on  investigation, 
which  he  did,  composed  of  C.  R.  Lamar,  O.  T.  Hotchkiss  and 
myself. 

We  made  the  preliminary  inquiry  according  to  the  Dis- 
cipline, and  we  were  not  long  in  unearthing  one  of  the  most 
unbelievable  set  of  facts  in  connection  with  those  men  that 
ever  went  into  the  records  of  a  Church  court.  They  denied, 
of  course,  but  the  evidence  was  beyond  all  question.  Hotch- 
kiss was  appointed  to  prosecute  Harman  and  I  to  prosecute 
Wimberly  at  the  approaching  conference  at  Brenham. 

We  gave  some  attention  to  strengthening  both  cases  against 
them  in  the  interim  and  when  the  conference  met  the  trial  of 
these  two  miscreants  was  the  sensation  of  the  session.  Hotch- 
kiss made  out  a  strong  case  against  Harman  and  so  did  I 
against  Wimberly.  Dr.  H.  V.  Philpott  defended  him.  When 
the  evidence  was  closed  I  briefly  stated  to  the  committee  what 
I  proposed  to  prove  and  then  gave  way  to  the  argument  of 
the  defense.  Wimberly  asked  the  privilege  to  be  heard  in  his 
own  behalf. 

He  was  a  striking-looking  fellow  and  gifted  as  an  orator. 
He  was  naturally  dramatic  and  extremely  so  on  that  occasion. 
He  spoke  for  four  hours  and  a  quarter  and  at  the  close  of  his 
impassioned  appeal  he  bowed  on  his  knees  before  the  com- 
mittee, opened  a  copy  of  the  Discipline  and  said: 


330  The  Story  of  My  Life 

"I  lay  this  on  my  heart,  oh,  God;  and  say  that  if  it  were 
the  Bible  I  would  look  up  into  thy  face  and  tell  thee  that  thou 
knowest  that  I  am  as  innocent  of  these  charges  as  an  unborn 
babe." 

The  committee  looked  astounded.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
look  of  supreme  disgust  that  came  into  the  face  of  Dr.  Phil- 
pott.  He  was  a  very  positive  and  dogmatic  man  in  his  dis- 
position, and  he  had  elements  of  greatness  in  his  character. 
He  was  largely  endowed,  rather  scholarly  in  his  acquirements ; 
he  was  doggedly  honest,  had  no  tolerance  for  shams  or  hypoc- 
risies ;  had  a  high  sense  of  honor,  great  pride  of  character,  and 
thoroughly  conscious  of  his  gifts  and  ability.  Had  it  not  been 
for  some  eccentricities  of  mind  and  a  serious  lack  of  thorough 
intellectual  equipoise  he  might  have  gone  into  the  highest  posi- 
tions in  the  Church.  He  had  the  brain  and  the  attainments. 
And  no  living  man  ever  questioned  his  honesty  and  unbending 
integrity. 

He  arose  to  make  his  speech  for  Wimberly,  and  began  as 
follows : 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  Members  of  the  Committee:  In  my 
early  life  I  was  a  lawyer  for  a  number  of  years  and  practiced 
criminal  law  before  the  courts  of  the  country,  and  I  know 
something  about  the  proprieties  of  proceedings  of  this  kind. 
I  want  to  say  that  it  was  an  established  maxim  among  men 
at  the  bar  in  my  day  that  the  man  who  represents  his  own 
ease  before  a  jury  has  a  fool  for  his  client,  and  if  this  maxim 
has  not  had  a  complete  vindication  for  the  last  four  hours  in 
your  hearing,  then  I  am  no  judge  of  things  of  this  sort. 
Nevertheless,  I  shall  proceed  to  do  what  I  can  for  the  un- 
fortunate brother." 

Then  for  half  an  hour  he  gave  a  succinct  statement  of  every 
item  of  testimony  in  the  least  degree  favorable  to  Wimberly's 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  331 

case.  I  closed  in  a  speech  of  an  hour,  and  in  ten  minutes  the 
committee  came  in  with  a  verdict  of  guilty  and  expelled  him 
from  the  ministry  and  the  Church. 

A  similar  verdict  was  rendered  in  Harman's  case.  It  was 
the  saddest  condition  of  things  that  ever  came  before  that 
conference. 

Two  months  after  that  Wimberly  came  to  my  office  in  Hous- 
ton, made  a  full  confession  of  the  whole  thing  and  said  that 
we  did  not  find  out  the  half  of  their  performance  in  Galveston ; 
told  me  that  he  was  down  and  out,  his  family  in  want,  and 
asked  me  if  I  would  not  see  Seth  Ward,  make  up  some  money 
for  him  and  help  him  to  get  his  family  to  Louisiana,  where 
friends  would  at  least  keep  them  from  starving.  I  called  up 
Seth  Ward  and  he  and  myself  chipped  in  and  with  the  help 
of  a  few  friends  we  raised  the  money  and  sent  them  all  to 
Plaquemine,  Louisiana. 

But  that  was  not  the  last  of  Wimberly.  He  joined  the 
Northern  Methodist  Church,  with  these  facts  known  to  them, 
came  back  on  the  Beaumont  Mission,  was  then  transferred 
to  one  of  the  Northwest  Conferences,  Nebraska,  I  believe ; 
filled  some  good  appointments,  got  into  some  sort  of  trouble 
and  the  Presiding  Elder  wrote  to  me  to  know  of  his  escapade 
in  Texas,  and  I  wrote  him  the  facts.  A  few  weeks  after  that 
I  received  a  letter  from  Wimberly  at  New  Orleans,  Louisiana, 
saying  that  I  had  slandered  him,  and  he  would  give  me  two 
days  to  write  him  a  retraction  of  the  statements  in  my  letter 
to  the  Presiding  Elder  in  the  Northwest ;  and  that  if  I  failed 
he  would  bring  suit  against  me  in  the  Federal  courts  for 
criminal  libel.  I  dropped  his  letter  into  the  waste-basket  and 
have  never  heard  more  from  him. 

Harman,  poor  fellow,  died  a  few  years  ago  in  Brenham,  and 
thus  closed  one  of  the  most  deplorable  and  regrettable  episodes 


332  The  Story  of  My  Life 

tnar  ever  blackened  the  history  of  the  old  Texas  Conference. 
Those  cases  gave  me  a  view  of  human  nature  that,  up  to  that 
time,  I  had  never  dreamed  possible  in  connection  with  the 
ministry. 

My  last  year  at  Shearn  Memorial  was  a  pleasant  and  a  busy 
one.  I  succeeded  in  getting  some  of  my  people  interested  in 
some  sane  rescue  work  among  the  outcast  of  the  city.  My 
study  of  that  situation  unfolded  to  me  social  tragedies  of  the 
most  pathetic  nature.  I  induced  Mr.  Charles  Crittenden,  the 
great  New  York  rescue  specialist,  to  visit  Houston  and  hold  a 
series  of  meetings  at  the  city  hall.  He  did  much  to  arouse 
public  interest,  and  we  soon  put  a  plan  on  foot  to  establish  a 
Rescue  Home.  It  was  moving  along  satisfactorly  when  my 
term  of  service  closed  and  the  result  is  in  Houston  to-day. 

My  Church  was  in  good  condition ;  the  organization  was 
compact,  the  membership  large,  and  its  influence  far-reaching 
in  the  life  of  the  city.  Houston  had  grown  twice  its  size  since 
I  had  first  seen  it,  and  improvements  were  many  and  modern. 
That  is  the  only  charge  that  I  ever  served  where  I  imagined 
that  the  time  limit  moved  me  before  my  work  was  done.  But 
that  impression  may  have  been  more  pronounced  in  my  imag- 
ination than  in  fact. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Bishop  Keener  came  to  my  house  one 
morning  from  the  West  Texas  Conference  and  asked  me  if  he 
could  stop  with  me  three  or  four  days  and  have  immunity  from 
company  and  be  given  a  room  where  he  could  be  left  mostly 
to  himself.  I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  then  he  handed 
me  his  grip  and  walked  into  the  house.  For  three  days  scarcely 
any  one  knew  that  he  was  there.  At  the  close  of  the  last  day,, 
which  was  Friday,  he  came  down  and  sat  with  my  family  and 
told  me  that  his  work  was  done;  that  he  would  leave  for 
Dallas  the  next  morning  and  spend  Sunday  with  the  people  of 


The  Beginning  of  My  Experience  in  Texas  333 

that  charge,  and  the  following  week  hold  the  session  of  the 
North  Texas  Conference.  He  told  me  that  he  had  put  in  the 
time  with  the  minutes  of  that  body  for  the  past  four  years 
and  that  in  the  past  three  days  he  had  practically  made  all  the 
appointments.  And  he  further  apprised  me  that  I  was  to  go 
to  that  conference,  but  he  did  not  say  to  what  appointment. 

My  four  years  in  Houston  had  been  delightful  and  the  Texas 
Conference  had  been  kind  and  generous  to  me.  I  made  scores 
of  warm  friends  among  its  members,  and  they  abide  to  this 
day.  Throughout  all  the  intervening  years  they  have  been 
true  and  unflinching  in  their  co-operation  with  me  in  the  work 
to  which  the  Church  has  since  assigned  me ;  and  when  times 
of  conflict  have  come  they  have  never  wavered. 

Often  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  revisit  the  old  congrega- 
tion and  preach  to  them,  and  though  from  time  to  time  they 
have  changed  and  some  of  them  have  passed  to  the  Church 
above,  and  recently  the  congregation  has  moved  into  the  most 
cathedral-like  temple  in  Texas  Methodism,  yet  they  are  the 
same  devoted  and  splendid  people.  It  is  like  going  back  home 
and  to  my  own  circle  every  time  I  spend  a  season  among  the 
old  Shearn  Methodists.  When  I  bade  them  adieu  Rev.  Seth 
Ward  succeeded  me,  and  in  them  he  found  cordiality  and 
responsiveness,  and  in  him  they  found  a  princely  preacher 
and  pastor. 


Chapter  XXIII 

From  South  Texas  to  North 
Texas 

My  stay  in  Houston  was  not  only  pleasant,  but  it  was  con- 
ducive to  my  health  and  general  physical  improvement.  I 
increased  in  weight  from  one  hundred  and  twenty-six  pounds 
to  one  hundred  and  forty-five,  and  I  felt  like  a  rejuvenated 
man.  Instead  of  finding  a  place  of  abode  in  the  cemetery,  as 
I  had  feared,  I  took  on  a  new  lease  of  life.  That  salt  air  was 
the  tonic  I  needed  and  all  that  I  lost  in  Kansas  City  I  more 
than  regained  in  South  Texas.  Some  people  need  the  air  of 
the  mountains,  but  I  needed  the  breezes  of  the  Gulf. 

When  the  Texas  Conference  met  in  Bastrop,  with  Bishop 
Hendrix  in  the  chair,  I  was  transferred  to  the  North  Texas 
Conference.  I  really  regretted  to  leave  that  section  of  the 
State  and  those  excellent  brethren,  but  it  seemed  a  necessity 
under  the  circumstances.  However,  I  felt  that  Texas  was  one, 
though  divided  into  five  conferences. 

True,  the  lines  between  them  were  closely  drawn,  but  the 
Methodism  of  the  State  was  one.  Nevertheless  I  found  a 
striking  difference  between  the  people  of  South  and  North 
Texas ;  and  I  also  found  a  difference  between  the  preachers  of 
the  two  sections. 

Down  there  is  a  large  mixture  of  foreign  peoples,  and  the 
effect  upon  the  customs  and  usages  of  the  people  is  marked. 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  335 

They  have  a  somewhat  different  texture  of  civilization.  Many 
of  the  people  of  foreign  extraction  have  become  largely  Ameri- 
canized, it  is  true,  but  many  of  them  are  as  distinctively 
foreign  as  though  they  were  living  in  Continental  Europe  or 
in  Old  Mexico. 

Among  them  are  German,  Bohemian  and  Italian  communi- 
ties, but  Houston  was  and  is  a  composite  mixture  of  many 
sorts  of  peoples.  A  Catholic  priest  in  that  city  told  me  that 
in  his  one  congregation  he  had  nine  distinct  nationalities.  The 
influence  of  this  condition  is  seen  in  the  social  and  political  life 
of  the  city.  The  saloons  are  a  potent  element,  and  in  mu- 
nicipal politics  they  are  a  dominant  force. 

In  North  Texas  it  is  vastly  different.  The  population  is 
largely  native,  and  American  ideas  and  customs  more  largely 
prevail.  There  are  comparatively  few  foreign  peoples,  and 
their  presence  and  influence  are  not  so  much  felt  in  Church 
and  State.  Protestant  Christianity,  the  public  schools  and  the 
English  language  have  the  right  of  way.  Moral  sentiment  is 
in  the  ascendency  and  the  saloons  have  but  little  influence  in 
politics  and  social  life.  The  soil  is  also  more  varied  in  its 
productions  and  the  rural  districts  are  more  populated.  The 
cities  and  the  towns  do  not  so  much  have  their  way,  and  the 
country  ideas  of  morals  more  than  offset  the  tendency  of  the 
city  and  the  town  toward  vice  and  the  lax  enforcement  of  law. 
The  man  wno  stands  for  public  office  in  North  Texas  does 
not  ignore  the  rural  vote,  but  he  respects  it  very  highly.  So 
that  in  a  large  measure  this  section  has  a  decided  advantage 
over  South  Texas. 

It  is  true  that  among  these  foreign  peoples  a  great  many 
excellent  citizens  are  found — citizens  of  solid  piety,  of  evan- 
gelical faith,  devoted  to  our  laws  and  institutions,  and  strong 
in  their  moral  and  religious  sentiment.    But  generally  speaking 


336  The  Story  of  My  Life 

this  is  not  the  case.  Hence  throughout  South  Texas  there  is 
not  much  regard  for  the  Sabbath  except  as  a  day  of  recreation 
and  hilarity;  the  saloon  and  the  beer  garden  are  popular  re- 
sorts, and  there  is  great  antipathy  to  prohibition  of  any  form. 

Politicians  pander  to  this  sentiment  and  the  daily  papers  are 
mostly  in  sympathy  with  this  state  of  things.  The  Roman 
Church  has  a  strong  hold  upon  the  element  of  foreigners  and 
its  influence  neither  elevates  nor  leads  them  out  of  these  ideas 
and  usages. 

So  when  I  entered  North  Texas  it  was  like  coming  into 
contact  with  another  civilization  and  with  the  masses  of  an- 
other race  of  people.  They  were  largely  American  and  mostly 
Protestant  in  their  faith  and  customs. 

I  was  not  present  when  the  North  Texas  Conference  met  in 
Paris.  I  was  closing  out  my  pastorate  in  Houston.  But  my 
transfer  was  announced  and  I  was  stationed  at  First  Church, 
Dallas.  It  was  not  long,  however,  until  I  was  at  my  post  of 
duty  and  in  charge  of  my  congregation.  Dallas  was  then,  as 
it  is  now,  the  leading  city  of  this  section ;  but  had  not  fully 
recovered  fiom  the  effect  of  its  earlier  boom  experience.  It 
had  been  for  three  or  four  years,  and  was  then,  at  a  stand- 
still. Its  streets,  its  sidewalks  and  its  buildings  showed  a 
lack  of  progress.  Real  estate  was  a  drag  on  the  market  and 
business  was  dull.  A  part  of  the  street  car  system  was  op- 
erated by  mules  and  there  was  a  lack  of  enterprise  generally. 

First  Church  was  in  fairly  good  condition.  My  predecessor, 
Rev.  E.  L.  Spragins,  had  taken  ill  during  the  early  spring  of 
the  preceding  year  and  died  about  the  Eastertide,  and  his 
place  had  only  been  supplied  by  a  young  minister  without  much 
experience.  As  a  result  the  congregation  was  somewhat  run 
down,  though  they  had  held  together  and  kept  things  going 
very  well  under  the  circumstances.    They  were  a  fine  body  of 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  337 

people  and  possessed  wonderful  possibilities.  Among  them 
were  the  leading  citizens  of  the  city.  The  business  and  the 
professional  life  of  the  community  was  well  represented  among 
them. 

Though  it  has  been  sixteen  years  or  more  since  I  first  stood 
before  them,  yet  many  of  them  are  engraven  upon  my  memory 
as  though  it  were  but  yesterday.  What  a  splendid  Official 
Board  greeted  me  at  their  first  session ;  W.  White  was 
the  chairman,  and  a  finer  man  was  never  born  of  woman. 
Clean  in  life,  devout  in  faith,  exemplary  in  word  and  deed, 
he  had  all  the  marks  of  a  first-class  gentleman  of  the  old 
school.  And  no  man  ever  wrought  more  nobly  than  he  in  the 
enterprises  of  the  Church.  Even  to-day  his  memory  is  as  oint- 
ment poured  forth  upon  the  people. 

N.  W.  Finley  was  vice-chairman ;  a  man  of  great  intellect 
and  large  heart,  sincere  in  his  love  for  the  Church,  a  leading 
lawyer,  a  profound  jurist,  the  son  of  a  Methodist  preacher, 
and  one  of  the  finest  characters  I  ever  knew.  His  death  later 
on,  while  just  in  the  prime  of  life,  was  a  calamity  to  Dallas 
Methodism. 

Thomas  F.  Nash  was  an  upright  man,  well  endowed  by 
nature,  simple  in  his  faith,  earnest  in  his  experience  and  a 
Methodist  of  the  old  type.  He  was  prominent  in  the  social 
and  political  life  of  the  county  and  a  jurist  of  profound  in- 
tegrity. His  premature  death  was  mourned  by  all  of  Dallas 
County. 

W.  C.  Padgitt  was  one  of  the  wealthy  business  men  of  the 
city ;  progressive,  unpretentious  and  always  in  his  place.  He 
loved  his  Church  and  was  in  sympathy  with  its  enterprises. 
It  was  but  recently  that  he  laid  down  his  burden  and  wenl 
to  his  reward. 

J.  L.  Harris  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  men  at  the  North 


338  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Texas  bar ;  young,  intelligent  and  gave  promise  of  a  long  life 
of  usefulness  and  success,  but  before  he  reached  his  noontide 
he  was  called  hence.  I  have  never  had  a  warmer  friend  in 
any  pastorate  than  this  splendid  and  brotherly  man. 

All  three  of  the  Terrys  were  men  of  solid  piety,  strong 
faith,  unobtrusive  in  service  and  useful  in  life.  They  have  all 
crossed  over  to  the  Church  beyond. 

Then  among  those  still  living  I  mention  A.  V.  Lane;  mod- 
est, cultured,  refined  and  true  as  steel.  Joseph  E.  Cockrell 
was  but  recently  a  citizen  of  the  city,  a  lawyer  of  large  equip- 
ment, of  Methodist  parentage,  robust  and  true  to  the  Church. 
J.  H.  Traylor,  business-like,  punctual  and  influential  in  the 
political  life  of  the  city.    He  was  afterward  Mayor  of  the  city. 

S.  J.  Hay,  young,  strong,  vigorous  and  clean;  and  S.  I. 
Munger,  modest,  true  and  devoted,  and  liberal  and  generous 
in  his  support  of  the  Church. 

There  was  Judge  John  Bookhout,  strong,  virile,  intelligent 
and  a  credit  to  the  manhood  of  the  city.  He  was  also  an  emi- 
nent jurist.  R.  E.  L.  Saner  was  one  of  the  young  men,  well 
educated,  a  promising  member  of  the  bar  and  full  of  hope  and 
inspiration.  J.  L.  Long,  Superintendent  of  the  city  schools; 
large  of  brain,  possessed  of  fine  judgment,  an  open  face  and 
a  man  of  large  influence. 

Rev.  W.  H.  Howell  was  my  only  local  preacher;  earnest 
and  enthusiastic,  and  in  the  long  ago  he  was  the  pastor  of  my 
sainted  mother.  N.  W.  Godbold,  spiritual  and  devout  in  his 
religious  life,  was  regarded  as  the  salt  of  the  earth.  B.  M. 
Burgher  was  my  Sunday-school  Superintendent  and  one  of 
the  most  enterprising  and  progressive  men  in  the  congregation. 

And  there  was  Louis  Blaylock,  the  most  prominent  layman 
in  Texas  Methodism,  the  publisher  of  the  Christian  Advocate 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  339 

and  an  aggressive  and  dominant  factor  in  all  departments  of 
Church  work. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  many  whole-souled  workers  with 
whose  co-operation  I  began  my  pastorate  of  First  Church. 
But  what  shall  I  say  of  the  elect  woman  of  that  membership? 
Time  would  fail  me  to  take  them  up  one  by  one  and  speak  of 
them  as  my  heart  suggests.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  have  never 
known  a  more  devoted  and  consecrated  band  of  Church  work- 
ers than  the  noble  women  of  this  congregation. 

Rev.  R.  M.  Powers,  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all,  was 
my  Presiding  Elder.  He  was  the  exponent  of  the  best  inter- 
ests of  the  masses  of  Methodism.  Solid  in  physique,  sub- 
stantial in  mind,  broad  in  his  common  sense,  practical  in  his 
methods,  spiritual  in  his  experience,  matured  in  his  judgment, 
he  was  one  of  the  most  useful  ministers  of  his  day.  But  he 
was  in  precarious  health  and  died  within  a  few  months  of  his 
occupancy  of  the  district. 

Rev.  T.  R.  Pierce,  then  editor  of  the  Advocate,  was  ap- 
pointed to  fill  out  the  unexpired  term,  as  he  was  on  the  ground 
and  understood  the  situation.  He  was  a  man  of  bright  intel- 
lect, large  attainments  and  one  of  the  leaders  in  the  confer- 
ence. As  a  preacher  he  was  brilliant  and  cultured,  and  there 
was  a  classic  finish  to  his  diction.  His  sermons  were  so  com- 
plete that  they  were  ready  for  the  printer  just  as  he  delivered 
them.  Several  years  after  that  he  cast  aside  his  armor  and 
assumed  his  crown. 

Before  the  year  closed  Dr.  J.  HI  McLean  laid  down  his 
duties  as  Regent  of  Southwestern  University,  and  as  Dr.  Pierce 
was  doing  double  duty,  he  surrendered  the  district  and  Dr. 
McLean  was  appointed  to  fill  out  the  interim.  Thus  I  had 
three  Presiding  Elders  during  the  first  year  of  my  pastorate 
at  First  Church. 


340  The  Story  of  My  Life 

I  had  a  large  membership  and  they  were  scattered  generally 
over  the  city.  At  that  time  the  bulk  of  the  Methodists  were 
in  my  congregation  and  my  pulpit  and  pastoral  duties  were 
exacting.  I  was  accorded  a  most  cordial  welcome,  for  the 
people  were  in  good  case  for  an  experienced  shepherd.  They 
not  only  received  me  with  every  demonstration  of  good-will, 
but  they  gave  to  me  their  earnest  co-operation  from  the  very 
beginning  of  my  work.  I  soon  found  them  to  be  one  of  the 
very  best  types  of  the  old-time  religion.  They  were  social, 
easy  of  approach,  responsive  and  ready  for  any  good  word  or 
work. 

I  soon  set  myself  to  the  task  of  visiting  from  house  to  house 
in  order  to  know  them  in  their  homes  and  to  come  into  touch 
with  their  manner  of  domestic  life.  I  have  never  known  how 
to  preach  to  people  until  I  have  been  in  the  circle  of  their 
homes  and  cultivated  them  in  the  sources  of  their  actual  living. 
Then  I  understand  them  and  am  prepared  to  make  a  spiritual 
diagnosis  of  their  several  cases.  And  that  sort  of  work  had  a 
fine  effect,  for  it  stimulated  their  attendance  upon  the  Church 
service  and  my  congregations  grew_to  the  capacity  of  the 
auditorium.  All  departments  of  the  Church  assumed  a  normal 
condition,  and  I  had  a  most  successful  year. 

The  North  Texas  Conference  met  that  fall  at  First  Church, 
and  the  duty  of  entertaining  that  body  devolved  upon  me.  I 
was  glad  of  it,  for  it  gave  me  a  good  opportunity  to  learn  them 
by  name  and  to  find  out  their  peculiarities.  When  they  came 
together  I  was  prepared  to  study  them  at  close  range  and  to 
become  acquainted  with  them  personally  in  a  way  that  would 
have  been  impossible  under  other  circumstances. 

As  I  looked  out  over  them  on  the  first  morning  of  their 
gathering,  they  were  a  fine  body  of  men  in  their  appearance. 
Some  of  them  stood  out  prominently  in  their  personalities. 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  341 

Rev.  J.  M.  Binkley  had  an  Oom  Paul  cast  of  face,  a  large 
head,  a  benign  countenance  and  a  sort  of  suppressed  twinkle 
in  his  eye  that  indicated  a  large  degree  of  dormant  wit  and 
humor;  but,  withal,  there  was  an  expression  of  deep  convic- 
tion, strong  will-power  and  a  leader  of  extraordinary  force. 

Rev.  I.  W.  Clark  had  the  face  of  a  man  of  determination, 
a  mouth  of  unusual  strength  and  an  eye  of  fire  and  enthu- 
siam.  In  body  he  was  rotund  and  wonderfully  well  p/eserved 
in  health  and  vigor.  Rev.  W.  D.  Mountcastle  looked  like  a 
sturdy,  purposeful  man  of  affairs,  with  an  intelligent  face  and 
deliberate  manner.  Rev.  E.  W.  Alderson  had  the  head  of  a 
man  of  towering  intellect  and  there  was  something  regal  in 
the  tone  of  his  voice.  Uncle  Buck  Hughes  had  a  sleepy  ex- 
pression in  his  eye,  but  his  broad,  tall  brow  indicated  the  realm 
of  a  logical  brain,  ready  to  tackle  any  problem  in  theology  or 
Church  law. 

J.  W.  Hill  had  a  mild  face,  of  decidedly  Irish  mold,  a  round, 
well-developed  head,  and  an  expression  of  inexhaustible  humor. 
Rev.  F.  O.  Miller  had  the  appearance  of  one  of  the  younger 
leaders  of  the  hosts,  quiet  but  very  observant.  Dr.  J.  H.  Mc- 
Lean had  the  look  of  a  seasoned  veteran  who  had  seen  much 
service,  but  still  active  and  ready  to  touch  blades  with  any 
man  in  the  body.  Uncle  John  Reynolds  looked  like  the  saint: 
of  the  body,  ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  send  up  a  shout  of 
victory. 

But  it  is  needless  to  go  further  now  into  these  personal  pen- 
pictures,  as  that  will  naturally  come  to  my  hand  as  this  work 
proceeds  in  later  years. 

Individually  many  of  the  members  of  the  conference  ex- 
tended to  me  a  cordial  welcome  to  their  fellowship,  but  gen- 
erally speaking  my  reception  was  a  trifle  cool  and  formal.  As 
&  body  they  were  not  prepared  to  accept  me  with  open  arms. 


342  The  Story  of  My  Life 

Transfers  for  the  leading  appointments  in  the  conference  were 
not  overwhelmingly  popular  in  those  days.  They  took  me  in 
on  probation;  however,  they  may  not  have  been  as  conscious 
of  that  as  I  was.  I  facetiously  remarked  to  one  of  the  leading 
members  with  whom  I  already  had  personal  acquaintance,  that 
I  was  so  much  obliged  to  him  for  that  warm,  cordial  and 
brotherly  letter  than  he  had  already  written  to  me  expressing 
his  delight  at  my  transfer  to  the  conference  and  according  me 
such  a  fraternal  welcome!  He  appreciated  the  irony  of  my 
words,  and  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  he  retorted : 

"Now,  Rankin,  did  you  want  me  to  lie  to  you  ?  Why  should 
I  thus  welcome  you  to  our  conference  and  to  the  first  appoint- 
ment in  it,  when  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  ought  to  be 
in  that  pulpit  myself!" 

There  was  more  of  truth  than  humor  in  his  interesting  re- 
ply. But,  personally  speaking,  the  rank  and  file  of  the  North 
Texas  Conference,  as  the  years  have  gone  by,  have  been  to- 
ward me  all  that  I  could  ask  or  desire. 

Bishop  Granbery  presided  at  the  conference.  He  was  then 
getting  along  in  years,  but  he  was  still  active  and  a  most  ex- 
cellent presiding  officer.  He  was  the  soul  of  courtesy  in  hii 
relation  to  the  body,  and  polite  toward  every  member.  The 
intellectual  and  spiritual  development  of  his  sermons  was  of 
a  high  order,  and  his  style  was  expository  and  homiletical. 
As  a  piece  of  mechanism  they  were  perfect,  and  their  subject- 
matter  was  well  tempered  mortar ;  but  he  was  neither  vigorous 
nor  captivating  in  his  delivery.  His  voice  was  very  defective 
and  its  modulation  poor.  But  he  made  a  delightful  impression 
on  the  conference,  and  he  is  remembered  as  a  most  lovable 
man  and  an  efficient  Bishop.  He  returned  me  to  the  same 
charge,  and  also  Dr.  McLean  to  the  district. 

I  began  my  second  year  under  very  favorable  auspices.     I 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  343 

was  well  acquainted  with  my  people  and  our  relation  was  har- 
monious. I  at  once  began  to  look  forward  to  a  great  revival, 
for  that  was  the  one  pressing  need  of  the  congregation.  There 
had  not  been  one  of  a  sweeping  character  in  years.  My  pas- 
toral work  and  my  preaching  proceeded  on  that  line. 

As  the  year  progressed  I  had  a  considerable  tussle  with  the 
gambling  dens  and  the  saloons.  The  former  were  running 
wide  open  and  the  latter  were  rather  defiant  of  the  law.  The 
county  constabulary  were  either  in  sympathy  with  them  or 
very  lax  in  their  regard  for  the  law.  So  one  night  I  made  it 
convenient  to  visit  the  gambling  dens  and  gather  some  data, 
and  I  betook  myself  to  the  Sheriff's  office  and  told  him  some 
things.  A  few  sermons  followed  and  he  was  not  long  in  get- 
ting busy. 

As  a  result,  while  the  evil  did  not  cease,  it  put  it  under  cover. 
As  for  the  saloons,  I  opened  up  on  them.  It  was  time  for 
somebody  to  come  to  the  front  and  challenge  them  to  mortal 
combat,  for  they  had  prevailed  on  the  City  Council  to  pass  an 
ordinance  permitting  them  to  close  at  nine  o'clock  Sunday 
morning  and  open  at  four  in  the  afternoon,  giving  us  a  seven- 
hour  Sunday.  I  threw  down  the  gauntlet  and  turned  loose  a 
fusillade  upon  them. 

I  have  never  lived  in  a  community  where  the  saloons  under- 
took to  run  openly  over  the  moral  sentiment  of  the  people 
without  bantering  them  to  mortal  combat.  Well,  the  upshot 
of  it  was,  we  got  the  Sunday  feature  of  their  diabolism  before 
the  higher  court  and  they  were  closed  from  midnight  Satur- 
day to  midnight  Sunday.  It  can  always  be  done  when  the 
moral  element  stand  by  a  courageous  leader. 

As  the  summer  advanced  and  the  fall  approached  I  had 
things  in  readiness  for  my  meeting.  Rev.  George  R.  Stuart 
was  the  preacher  to  lead  in  the  services,  and  a  large  tent  just 


344  The  Story  of  My  Life 

across  the  street  from  the  church  was  the  place  for  it.  Great 
crowds  attended,  and  it  took  on  the  form  of  a  union  meeting 
for  the  Methodists.  The  other  pastors  joined  forces  with  us, 
and  I  never  heard  finer  revival  preaching1.  George  Stuart 
has  no  superior,  if  an  equal,  in  a  revival  service.  Scores  and 
scores  were  converted  and  added  to  the  Churches,  and  the 
spiritual  life  of  my  people  received  a  wonderful  quickening. 
It  lifted  the  whole  congregation  upon  a  higher  plane  of  reli- 
gious life. 

In  my  judgment  George  Stuart  is  the  most  gifted  evangelist 
in  Methodism.  He  is  deeply  spiritual  in  his  preaching,  won- 
derful in  his  tactics  and  irresistible  in  his  appeals.  And  his 
methods  are  in  harmony  with  the  usages  of  the  Church.  His 
work  always  leaves  the  preacher's  influence  magnified  and  his 
work  enhanced.  He  is  a  man  of  large  brain,  big  heart,  and 
his  enthusiasm  knows  no  bounds.  Not  only  so,  but  he  is  one 
of  the  most  popular  men  on  the  American  platform.  His  work 
as  a  prohibition  speaker  has  made  him  the  most  formidable 
foe  to  the  liquor  traffic  in  our  Southland.  He  has  done  more 
than  any  other  one  man  to  bring  the  saloon  under  the  ban  of 
public  sentiment  and  to  create  public  opinion  against  it. 

I  had  as  my  associate  pastor  at  Floyd  Street  Church  Uncle 
Sebe  Crutchfield.  If  I  mistake  not  this  was  his  first  station,, 
and  I  am  sure  that  it  was  his  first  city  station.  He  was  a 
noted  and  most  successful  circuit  preacher.  He  had  a  way  of 
his  own  in  managing  a  charge;  and  while  it  did  not  always 
suit  many  of  his  people,  yet  it  suited  him  and  he  pursued  it 
regardless  of  what  others  thought  of  it.  He  was  a  man  of 
colossal  frame,  a  head  of  more  than  ordinary  magnitude,  a 
fiery  temperament  and  a  mercurial  disposition.  When  at  white 
heat  he  was  a  sort  of  a  cyclone.  Yet  he  had  a  kind  and  broth- 
erly heart,  and  he  was  mighty  in  prayer.    His  sermons  were 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  345 

largely  hortatory,  but  they  were  like  a  wild  torrent  turned 
loose  at  times.  He  and  most  of  his  officials  at  Floyd  Street 
did  not  get  along  harmoniously.  He  did  not  like  their  way  of 
doing  and  they  did  not  like  his,  and  so  they  frequently  came 
into  contact  with  their  points  of  difference.  But  Uncle  Sebe 
always  had  the  right  of  way. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  both  he  and  they  were  delighted  that 
their  relation  was  drawing  to  a  termination.  On  the  last 
Sunday  Uncle  Ike  came  down  on  his  way  to  conference  and 
spent  the  day  with  Uncle  Sebe.  While  they  are  brothers,  they 
are  as  much  unlike  as  though  they  were  born  of  different 
mothers.  The  former  is  sweet-spirited,  gentle  and  very  evan- 
gelical. Uncle  Sebe  preached  his  farewell  sermon  Sunday 
morning,  and  it  was  a  scorcher.  It  was  his  last  opportunity 
and  he  delivered  his  soul  with  spice  and  pepper,  with  a  few 
warm  embers  mixed. 

At  night  Uncle  Ike  preached  one  of  his  deeply-spiritual  ser- 
mons, full  of  power  and  unction.  It  caught  the  congregation 
and  it  swept  Uncle  Sebe  off  his  feet,  for  he  was  a  very  sus- 
ceptible listener  and  singularly  emotional.  He  lead  in  the 
closing  prayer,  and  among  other  things  said : 

"Lord,  we  are  so  glad  to  be  in  this  meeting  and  under  the 
influence  of  the  good  Spirit.  It  makes  us  happy  and  we  re- 
joice. Lord,  we  are  not  always  in  this  good  frame  of  mind. 
Sometimes  we  get  off  the  track  and  get  cold.  It  was  the  case 
with  us  at  the  morning  service  and,  Lord,  thou  knowest  that 
thy  servant  lost  his  head  and  spoke  unadvisedly  with  his  lips." 

But  right  there  he  caught  himself  and  added: 

"But,  Lord,  thou  knowest  that  thy  servant  had  cause,  for  he 
has  had  a  lot  of  soreheads  to  deal  with  all  this  year." 

During  the  summer  Rev.  C.  M.  Harless,  pastor  of  Trinity 
Church,  had  Rev.  Abe  Mulkey  to  aid  him  in  a  revival  service. 


34^  The  Story  of  My  Life 

His  church  was  a  small  structure,  located  on  the  same  site 
where  the  magnificent  Trinity  Church  now  stands.  The  meet- 
ing had  been  in  progress  some  days  before  it  was  convenient 
for  me  to  attend,  and  it  had  gotten  pretty  well  under  headway, 
I  had  never  seen  him  in  the  pulpit  and  knew  nothing  of  his 
style  and  methods  as  a  preacher  except  what  I  had  read  in  the 
papers. 

The  first  night  I  attended,  I  presume  that  I  was  in  a  critical 
frame  of  mind,  for  I  sat  and  looked  and  listened  in  amaze- 
ment. I  thought  I  had  never  heard  so  much  silly  nonsense 
gotten  off  in  the  pulpit.  My  disgust  grew  as  he  proceeded, 
and  it  was  all  that  I  could  do  to  remain  and  listen  to  what  I 
regarded  as  the  veriest  travesty  on  preaching.  His  antics,  his 
grotesque  facial  expressions,  his  helter-skelter  style  and  his 
disjointed  subject-matter  became  almost  intolerable.  But  to- 
ward the  close  he  related  a  touching  story,  made  his  appli- 
cation and  then  appealed  to  the  unconverted ;  and  as  it  is 
an  easy  transition  from  a  state  of  laughter  to  one  of  tears,  the 
audience  was  considerably  moved.  The  penitents  came  troop- 
ing to  the  altar  and  conversions  follows. 

Then  my  amazement  became  more  pronounced.  I  could  not 
understand  how  such  a  wonderful  result  could  follow  such  a 
performance.  I  reflected  and  gradually  came  to  myself,  and 
I  realized  that  I  had  been  sitting  there  doing  what  the  critical 
auditor  usually  does — putting  in  the  hour  trying  to  square  the 
preaching  of  Abe  Mulkey  with  the  simple  rules  that  apply  to 
the  ordinary  preacher;  and  such  rules  are  out  of  adjustment 
with  such  a  preacher. 

Instead  of  permitting  the  Lord  to  use  Abe  Mulkey  in  his 
own  way  I  had  made  myself  a  judge  and  degenerated  into  a 
carping  critic  and  had  put  myself  completely  out  of  rapport 
with  the  preacher  and  the  intent  of  the  service.    I  proceeded 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  347 

to  retrace  my  steps,  or  rather  my  processes,  revised  my  judg- 
ment, changed  my  whole  attitude  toward  the  preacher  and  the 
service,  and  measured  him  and  his  sermon  by  the  result  of 
the  service.  It  then  dawned  upon  me  that  Abe  Mulkey  was 
an  instrument  in  God's  hands  with  a  special  mission  to  the 
unconverted,  and  that  if  I  had  preached  one  of  my  well- 
seasoned  sermon  on  that  occasion  there  would  probably  have 
not  been  a  single  penitent  at  that  altar. 

I  therefore  then  and  there  made  up  my  mind  that  any  man 
who  tried  to  listen  to  Abe  Mulkey  in  a  critical  mood  and  made 
an  effort  to  gauge  him  by  the  rules  that  apply  to  the  trained 
pastor  and  preacher,  had  better  be  at  home  in  his  bed  and 
asleep,  and  from  that  day  until  this  present  I  have  never  again 
permitted  myself  to  criticise  or  find  fault  with  Abe  Mulkey's 
preaching. 

He  is  a  rough  ashler,  called  of  God  to  do  a  work  that  no 
other  man  could  have  done,  and  by  methods  unsuited  to  all 
others,  and  through  a  style  of  ministry  all  his  own.  And  right 
here  I  want  to  bear  my  testimony  to  the  fact  that  Abe  Mulkey, 
with  all  his  eccentricity  of  manner,  has  been  more  powerful 
in  the  providence  of  God  in  bringing  sinners  into  a  state  of 
penitence  and  conversion,  and  then  into  a  life  of  righteousness, 
than  any  other  one  man  in  Texas. 

He  has  also  aided  in  relieving  Churches  of  debt  and  in 
projecting  Church  enterprises  more  effectually  than  most  any 
man  among  us.  Bless  his  dear  old  soul !  His  work  is  nearly 
done,  his  course  approximately  finished,  but  he  has  large  credit 
to  his  effectiveness  as  a  soul-winner  in  the  Lamb's  Book  of 
Life.  But  had  he  done  nothing  else  except  build  and  pay  for 
that  splendid  structure  for  the  Orphanage  at  Waco,  that  single 
stroke  of  enterprise  is  sufficient  to  make  him  immortal  in 
Texas  Methodism. 


348  The  Story  of  My  Life 

In  October,  a  few  weeks  prior  to  the  meeting  of  the  North 
Texas  Conference,  the  Joint  Board  of  Publication  for  the 
Texas  Christian  Advocate  met  in  Dallas  and  after  prolonged 
deliberation,  re-elected  Rev.  T.  R.  Pierce  to  succeed  himself 
for  another  year  as  editor  of  the  conference  organ.  He  had 
filled  the  position  four  years.  But  a  few  days  after  this  event, 
for  reasons  satisfactory  to  himself,  he  tendered  his  resignation 
with  a  view  to  re-enter  the  pastoral  work.  The  board  was  re- 
convened and  I  was  elected  to  succeed  him  as  editor  of  the 
paper.  This  action  was  taken  without  any  consultation  with 
me  upon  the  part  of  the  board  or  any  member  of  it,  at  that 
time  or  at  any  time  previously.  None  of  them  communicated 
with  me  by  letter  or  word  of  mouth  as  to  my  election,  and 
there  was  no  concert  of  understanding,  for  several  ballot*- 
were  taken  before  the  result  was  determined.  I  neither  de- 
sired nor  expected  such  a  result  when  the  board  came  together, 
for  all  my  plans  were  in  force  to  finish  my  quadrennium  at 
First  Church.  Eleven  of  that  old  board  are  still  living,  and 
they  will  doubtless  read  these  words  and  they  can  bear  testi- 
mony to  the  correctness  of  this  statement. 

The  next  session  of  the  North  Texas  Conference  met  in 
Greenville  with  Bishop  Galloway  in  the  chair.  This  was  his 
first  visit  to  the  conference,  and  his  coming  created  more  than 
ordinary  expectation.  His  fame  as  a  preacher  was  already 
known  throughout  Texas.  Personally  he  was  one  of  the  most 
delightful  men  imaginable,  and  he  made  himself  companion- 
able and  brotherly  to  all  who  were  privileged  to  meet  him  in  the 
private  circle.  There  was  nothing  of  the  perfunctory  in  his 
manner,  whether  in  the  chair  or  in  a  social  gathering.  He  was 
intensely  human  and  enjoyed  the  fellowship  of  his  brethren. 
He  had  a  kind  heart;  he  was  a  good  conversationalist;  and 
while  he  had  the  power  to  entertain,  he  never  monopolized  the 


T-" " " " "'":""'" 


REV.  ABE  MULKEY 

THE  TEXAS  EVANGELIST 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  349 

attention  of  any  company  of  which  he  was  a  part.  He  was  a 
good  listener  and  knew  how  to  vary  the  interest  of  the  social 
circle  so  as  to  break  up  its  monotony.  He  was  in  inimitable 
story-teller  and  had  a  large  fund  from  which  to  draw.  He  had 
a  fine  sense  of  humor  and  enjoyed  an  amusing  incident  by 
whomsoever  given,  and  he  often  related  anecdotes  to  the 
amusement  of  others. 

As  a  presidng  officers  he  was  easy  and  graceful.  He  never 
evinced  impatience,  was  never  brusque,  and  he  was  never 
known  to  betray  the  slightest  discourtesy  to  any  brother,  how- 
ever humble.  He  was  quick  to  decide  points  of  order ;  he  was 
lucid  in  his  interpretation  of  law,  and  he  often  enlivened  the 
tedium  of  routine  proceedings  by  flashes  of  wit  and  humor. 
Occasionally  some  report  would  call  forth  from  him  a  most 
instructive  and  entertaining  side-talk.  He  was  firm  in  his 
rulings  and  expeditious  in  his  conduct  of  the  business  of  the 
conference.  He  never  permitted  business  to  drag  or  to  be- 
come irksome.  In  the  Cabinet  he  is  said  to  have  been  patient 
and  painstaking  in  trying  to  find  the  place  for  the  man  and  the 
man  for  the  place. 

But  the  pulpit  was  his  throne  of  power ;  and  it  was  as  a 
preacher  that  he  excelled  all  his  contemporaries.  He  was  the 
peer  of  any  man  in  the  American  pulpit.  He  was  a  born  as 
well  as  a  trained  orator.  He  had  all  the  natural  and  all  the 
acquired  gifts  of  public  speech.  Nature  had  well-nigh  per- 
fected him  for  the  pulpit  and  the  platform.  He  had  the  build, 
the  personality,  the  magnetism,  the  gesture,  the  voice,  the 
countenance  of  the  man  born  to  sway  the  multitudes.  His 
mind  was  of  a  high  order,  his  faculties  well  trained  and  his 
thinking  was  orderly  and  consecutive.  He  had  a  brilliant 
imagination  and  his  style  was  ornate  and  rhetorical.  His  dic- 
tion was  of  the  purest  and  most  elegant  strain  and  his  periods 


35°  The  Story  of  My  Life 

were  rhythmic  and  mellifluent.  His  eloquence  was  matchless 
in  its  flow  and  bewitching  in  its  charm ;  it  was  not  merely  the 
eloquence  of  words  beautifully  woven  into  polished  sentences — 
it  was  the  eloquence  of  thought,  of  emotion  and  of  passion 
stirred  to  its  profoundest  depth.  It  was  not  weird,  it  was  not 
mechanical ;  neither  was  it  gorgeous  nor  magniloquent ;  but  it 
was  genuine,  it  was  transporting,  it  was  the  harmonious  out- 
going of  the  soul's  energy  through  the  medium  of  inspired 
speech. 

His  sermon  on  this  conference  occasion  more  than  met  the 
expectation  of  his  audience,  and  it  carried  everything  before 
it.  But  the  most  triumphant  occasion  I  ever  witnessed  under 
the  ministry  of  Bishop  Galloway  was  several  years  after  at 
the  great  Ecumenical  Conference  in  London,  when  he  stood 
like  a  crowned  prince  before  the  assembled  Methodism  of  the 
world,  in  the  pulpit  of  City  Road  Chapel,  and  delivered  that 
epoch-making  sermon  whose  ominous  words  and  burning 
thoughts  made  him  famous  throughout  Protestant  Christen- 
dom. It  was  an  inscrutable  Providence  that  translated  him 
in  the  zenith  of  his  popular  manhood  when  the  world  so  much 
stood  in  need  of  his  wondrous  ministry. 

It  was  at  this  Greenville  Conference  that  Bishop  Galloway 
read  me  out  as  editor  of  the  Texas  Christian  Advocate.  Right 
then  began  an  intimate  relation  between  me  and  one  Texas 
layman  of  whom  I  must  speak  a  few  words  of  appreciation 
before  this  final  chapter  in  this  volume  closes — a  relation  that 
has  ripened  into  the  maturity  of  an  undying  brotherly  friend- 
ship— Louis  Blaylock. 

My  acquaintance  began  with  him  more  than  twenty  years 
ago,  and  I  learned  to  love  him  immediately.  His  good  nature, 
his  big  heart,  his  sincere  manner  and  his  friendship  for  the 
ministry  won  me  at  the  first  conference  at  Navasota  when  I 


From  South  Texas  to  North  Texas  351 

came  face  to  face  with  him.  Sixteen  years  ago  I  became  his 
pastor  at  First  Methodist  Church,  Dallas.  He  was  on  my 
Official  Board,  and  an  intimacy  at  once  sprang  up  between  us. 
I  found  him  to  be  a  man  whom  I  could  trust  and  one  whose 
judgment  was  clear  and  reliable.  During  the  two  years  fol- 
lowing he  never  disappointed  me.  I  was  often  in  his  company 
and  frequently  in  his  home,  and  whenever  any  emergency  de- 
veloped I  always  knew  that  among  the  dependable  members 
of  my  board  Louis  Blaylock  was  at  top  of  the  list. 

Fourteen  years  ago  when  I  became  editor  of  the  Texas 
Christian  Advocate  it  was  predicted  by  a  leading  member  of 
the  conference  that  the  publisher  and  the  editor  would  not 
long  live  in  harmony,  since  both  of  them  were  men  of  deep 
convictions  and  very  tenacious  of  their  positions  touching 
many  questions.  I  will  admit  that  on  the  surface  of  the  sus- 
picions there  was  something  plausible  in  the  prediction. 

I  have  very  decided  views  and  there  is  Scotch  enough  in  my 
nature  to  make  me  almost  stubborn  when  once  my  mind  is 
made  up  on  a  given  subject.  In  addition  to  this  I  have  enough 
Irish  in  my  blood  to  make  me  very  intense  and  persistent  in 
my  adherence  to  my  conclusions.  I  must  admit  that  I  yield 
to  the  inevitable  as  reluctantly  as  any  living  man.  It  is  the 
last  alternative  with  me.  And  I  am  not  innocent  of  temper 
when  aroused. 

Blaylock  has  the  most  of  these  traits  as  well  marked 
in  his  temperament  and  character  as  myself,  and  when  two 
jtuch  men  come  into  close  relation  daily,  as  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary in  the  case  of  the  editor  and  publisher  of  the  Advocate, 
with 'a  hundred  and  one  things  to  annoy  and  provoke  differ- 
ences of  opinion  and  judgment,  it  appears  to  the  casual  ob- 
server that  all  the  elements  of  conflict  are  on  hand. 

But  my  confidence  in  him  and  in  his  disposition  to  do  right, 


352  The  Story  of  My  Life 

and  his  confidence  in  me  to  the  same  end,  made  the  bond  of  a 
union  with  indissoluble  ties.  And  during  all  these  years  of 
trial  and  vexations  we  have  often  had  our  differences  of 
judgment,  and  we  have  sharply  contended  for  our  positions, 
nevertheless  he  has  never  doubted  my  honesty  and  I  have 
never  doubted  his.  The  result  is  that  at  no  time  have  we  ever 
faecd  a  difference  that  did  not  solve  itself  satisfactorily  in  the 
end,  and  also  without  the  slightest  jar  to  our  intimate  and 
brotherly  relation.  We  have  always  stood  shoulder  to  shoul- 
der, whether  we  have  seen  eye  to  eye  or  not,  in  the  conduct  of 
the  Advocate. 

There  has  never  been  a  moment  of  all  these  years  when  I  did 
not  love  him  like  a  brother,  and  when  he  did  not  love  me  in 
the  same  degree.  I  would  trust  my  life  or  my  family  in  his 
hands  and  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  would  trust 
me  equally  as  far.  I  have  been  with  him  on  nearly  all  sorts  of 
occasions  and  under  almost  all  sorts  of  circumstances.  I  have 
had  the  best  opportunity  of  any  living  man  to  know  him  in  his 
motive,  in  his  inner  purpose,  in  his  private  manner  of  life.  I 
have  seen  him  in  times  of  testing  when  if  there  were  weak- 
nesses they  would  come  to  the  surface ;  I  have  seen  him  in  his 
moments  of  joy  and  good  humor,  and  I  have  seen  him  when 
the  shadows  were  falling  dark  and  lowering  upon  his  heart, 
with  the  sables  of  grief  hanging  around  the  casket  of  his  loved 
and  departed.  Yes,  I  have  seen  him  in  the  sunshine  and  in 
the  darkness,  in  his  alternations  of  happiness  and  grief.  I 
know  him  inside  and  out,  and  I  am  capable  of  passing  judg- 
ment upon  his  life  and  character. 

And  right  here  I  want  to  say  that,  take  him  day  in  day  out, 
up  one  side  of  him  and  down  the  other,  in  his  relation  to  men 
in  all  the  walks  of  life,  I  have  never  known  a  truer  and  a 
cleaner  man  than  Louis  Blaylock.    I  have  seen  men  who  made 


From  South  Texas  1o  North  Texas  353 

larger  professions,  men  who  more  loudly  proclaimed  their  own 
virtues,  men  who  accentuated  their  own  piety  with  stronger 
emphasis ;  but  I  have  never  known  a  man  with  purer  motives, 
with  a  higher  sense  of  personal  integrity  and  of  loftier  stand- 
ards of  moral  conduct  for  his  own  manner  of  dealing  with  hit 
fellowmen.  If  there  is  a  mean  thing  in  his  nature  I  have  never 
discovered  it. 

I  am  not  holding  him  up  as  a  perfect  man.  There  has  nevei 
been  but  one  of  that  sort.  We  all  have  our  weaknesses  and 
our  imperfections ;  and  Louis  Blaylock  shares  these  in  common 
with  us  all.  There  are  some  things  in  him  that  I  would 
change,  as  there  are  some  in  me  that  he  would  doubtless 
change ;  but  when  it  comes  to  clean  manhood,  to  correct  ideals, 
to  his  disposition  to  deal  justly  and  honestly  with  those  to 
whom  he  stands  in  any  way  related  in  friendship,  in  business, 
in  counsel,  he  will  come  as  nearly  doing  the  right  thing  re- 
gardless of  circumstances  as  any  man  whom  it  has  ever  been 
my  privilege  to  know.  And  a  kinder  heart  is  not  found  in 
any  human  bosom. 

He  has  an  ear  for  the  tale  of  the  man  in  distress ;  he  has  a 
hand  for  the  man  in  need ;  he  has  a  heart  that  responds  to  the 
demands  of  sweet  charity.  Yes,  he  is  a  brother !  I  have  tested 
him  during  the  passing  of  a  score  of  trying  years;  and  he  is 
a  royal  man.  The  Methodist  Church  and  the  Methodist 
preacher  never  had  a  warmer  and  a  more  responsive  friend. 
He  has  opened  his  heart,  his  hand,  his  purse  to  them  on  all 
occasions  of  their  need.  Hence  there  is  no  man  better  lovrd, 
more  largely  trusted  and  more  genuinely  esteemed  in  Texas 
Methodism  than  Louis  Blaylock. 

And  such  is  his  relation  to  me  that  my  book  would  not  be 
complete  without  his  picture  and  this  sketch  of  his  life  and 


554  The  Story  of  My  Life 

character  as  I   have   studied  and  known  him  as  a  man,  a 
brother  and  a  Christian. 

As  long  as  I  live  my  affection  for  him  will  be  tender,  sin- 
cere, abiding,  and  when  his  and  my  earthly  pilgrimages  shall 
have  ended,  and  we  cross  over  to  the  other  side  to  rest  from 
our  labors,  our  friendship  will  be  intensified  and  continued 
under  a  brighter  sky  and  amid  nobler  conditions  in  our  Fa- 
ther's house! 

But  when  Bishop  Galloway  read  me  out  as  editor  of  the 
Texas  Christian  Advocate  he  not  only  threw  me  into  a  closer 
relationship  with  Louis  Blaylock,  but  the  announcement  closed 
out  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century's  experience  as  a  pastor, 
and  no  man  had  ever  loved  the  work  of  the  pastorate  more 
than  myself.  The  announcement  did  more;  it  took  up  the 
whole  current  of  my  ministry  and  life  and  turned  it  into  a  new 
and  largely  different  channel.  At  that  time  I  little  dreamed  of 
the  magnitude  of  the  task  thrust  upon  me.  Could  I  have  lifted 
the  veil  of  the  future  and  looked  face  to  face  upon  the  field 
of  conflict  then  stretching  out  before  me,  with  its  fightings 
within  and  its  fears  without,  as  I  have  since  beheld  it  and 
gone  up  against  it,  I  doubt  if  my  courage  had  been  equal  to 
the  colossal  undertaking.  It  would  have  appalled  me  and  my 
heart  would  have  shuddered  at  the  contemplation  of  it. 

But  the  future  was  wisely  concealed  from  me,  and  I  ven- 
tured upon  it  with  hopeful  enthusiasm.  At  that  time  an  old 
editor,  seasoned  in  such  work  and  scarred  by  its  stupendous 
conflicts,  said  to  me: 

"This  is  a  great  responsibility  thrust  upon  you,  one  prolific 
of  great  opportunities  for  service ;  but  if  you  do  your  full  duty 
and  remain  at  your  post  a  dozen  years,  I  doubt  if  you  will 
have  a  score  of  friends  left  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  to 


From  South  *  exkis  to  North  Texas  355 

stand  by  you  in  your  battle  in  behalf  of  truth  and  righteous- 
ness." 

His  statement  sounded  like  an  exaggeration,  but  there  have 
been  times  in  my  experience  since  then  when  I  have  thought 
that  after  all  he  spoke  more  wisely  and  truthfully  than  he  knew. 

But  it  is  not  my  purpose  in  this  volume  to  make  record  of 
my  experiences  in  this  new  era  in  my  life  upon  the  tripod  and 
the  platform.  In  the  first  place,  the  material  is  too  extensive 
and  varied ;  and  in  the  second  place,  I  am  still  too  close  to  the 
field  of  conflict  and  to  the  men  both  in. Church  and  State  with 
whom  I  have  measured  swords.  The  sound  of  the  battle  is 
still  ringing  in  my  ears,  and  the  passion  engendered  by  the 
strife  is  still  hot  in  my  blood.  To  deal  with  them  and  the 
issues  they  represent,  deliberately  and  impartially,  would  be  a 
task  well-nigh  impossible. 

But  when  a  few  more  years  shall  ave  passed  by  me,  and 
Time,  the  great  healer,  has  cooled  my  brain  and  chiseled  off 
the  asperities  superinduced  by  blows  given  and  received,  then 
in  another  and  a  subsequent  volume  I  will  be  better  prepared 
to  make  a  dispassionate  record  of  my  experiences  as  a  journal- 
ist and  a  leader  in  the  realm  of  moral  and  civic  reform  through- 
out this  great  empire  of  the  Southwest. 

And  it  is  needless  to  say  that  in  that  second  and  final  volume 
there  will  be  something  racy  and  rare  in  the  literature  of  the 
Lone  Star  State! 

In  the  meantime  the  material  for  that  volume,  most  of  which 
is  already  accumulated,  will  be  added  to,  classified,  digested 
and  put  in  shape  for  its  final  consummation,  and  about  the 
time  that  my  public  life  is  nearing  its  conclusion  and  I  no 
longer  hold  a  place  in  the  limelight,  this  finished  result  will 
be  sent  forth  upon  its  stormy  mission. 

Therefore,  for  the  present,  this  volume  is  committed  to  the 


356  The  Story  of  My  Life 

public  with  the  hope  that  struggling  young  men  of  worthy 
ambition,    largely   dependent    upon   their   own    resources   foi 
success,  may  read  it  and  take  heart  and  courage  to  press  for 
ward  toward  the  goal;  and  with  the  further  hope  that  thos 
in  middle  life  and  those  burdend  with  age,  if  they  chance  t 
see  it,  may  find  recreation  and  entertainment. 


The  End  of  Volume  I. 


